


sing, sweet nightingale

by vityuu (nanahoney)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (aka a yoi cliche from hell i'm sorry), (also a little bit of a character study on my side), (vaguely mentioned), Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Anxiety, Ballroom Dancing, Cinderella AU, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Ice Cream, Love at First Sight, M/M, Magic, Not historically accurate probably, Skating, Tickling, Victor's a space nerd, WARNING!!!!! this contains domestic abuse (mostly referenced besides in one scene), Yuri and Phichit are bffs, Yuu and Vic are the same age because why not, anxiety attack, everyone has freckles (genetics who's that don't know her), katsudonbang, one thinks this is the first time they've met but SURPRISE BITCH, there's tons of platonic interactions in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 10:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10534617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanahoney/pseuds/vityuu
Summary: Once upon a time is how fairytales start.Once upon a time would Yuuri’s sister say when he was tucked into bed, balancing a thick book on her knees.Once upon a time would Victor’s mother say, with his father leaning against her, watching her with soft warmth; a fire one could touch without getting burned.Once upon a time is how their story started, too.Once upon a time, there was a boy who breathed life into Victor’s battered heart, surrounded with champagne and flickers of flame in his eyes.Once upon a time, there was a man who took Yuuri’s breath away, even in the dark.Once upon a time was different for them both.But it brought them both exactly where they needed to be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> gonna keep this real brief, more a/n on the bottom.
> 
> gorgeous art by the most talented [rock](https://pastelline-ursidae.tumblr.com/post/159161960615/my-entry-for-the-katsudonbang-based-on-sing) (ily for this), this fic not sucking as much is thanks to my most awesome beta reader and gf j (thanks for listening to me whine about this fic, you're The BestTM. also any remaining typos and mistakes in the fic are all on me ). i'd also like to thank everyone in the katsudonbang chat (you're all amazing and all your fic and art is amazing <3 <3) as well as the mods for an AMAZING experience (and the beautiful banner).
> 
> also sorry for any historical inaccuracies?? this isn't set in any particular era, really but still,,,,,
> 
> this is 'space nerds mooning about the other with space-related metaphors and similes' the fic AKA MY GUILTY PLEASURE. also some bird metaphors because my beta likes that kind of stuff.
> 
> and hOLY SHIT THIS TURNED OUT TO BE LONGER THAN I EVER ANTICIPATED *FANS SELF* 
> 
> mood music: last waltz by engelbert humperdinck

The first time Yuuri sees him, the moon is full, the night is clearing and the lakes are frozen.

Clouded in darkness but crowned with shimmering light, he is a graceful swan, ready to take off into the night sky. With wings spread out on either side of him, his feet flutter almost effortlessly in their effort to carry him across the ice. A bird with clipped feathers - unable to take off and fly away.

Yuuri can’t take his eyes off him.

The wind howls behind his ears. He stays hidden behind a tree, his own skates hanging limply from his hands, the frozen grass crunching beneath his feet. He marvels at the skater’s form, at how he makes everything look so easy and flawless. At how blissful the little of his face he can see looks whenever he passes through the moonlight. His hair, pulled up high on his head, falls like a waterfall down to the nape of his neck . 

He steps back an inch with every intention to leave, but a branch snaps beneath his feet. It's nothing more than a whisper, but in the stillness of the night, it echoes like a yell. 

The man suddenly comes to a stop and whips his head to face him, eyes wide, specks of stars painted perfectly into them.

Yuuri stills too, and doesn’t dare move. Stares back at him, with a guilty apology clinging to his lips.

His skates fall to the floor and he smiles sheepishly. The wind passes through his hair, makes it sway, and it stings against his cheek. He fiddles with a loose thread on the mittens that shield his hands from the piercing cold .

“I-I’m really sorry, umm...” He fumbles as the man starts skating towards him. His hair is even longer from up close, Yuuri realizes and licks at his lips when he halts at the edge of the lake again, just a short distance away from Yuuri. There’s a raggy purple coat hanging from his shoulders, and his shirt looks thin. Yuuri feels conscious of his own warm fur coat, and the pale red shawl, that covers the sensitive skin of his neck.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Yuuri tries weakly, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair behind his ear, fumbling with the frames of his glasses for a second. “You, uhh... You just looked beautiful and I - “ He pauses and slaps a hand in front of his mouth. His ears burn.

The stranger’s eyes wide again -  _crystal blue, like the sea, like the sky_  - before his mouth curls in an amused smile and he huffs out a soft laugh. “Thank you,” He says, sincere.

His voice is soft and silky and smooth, like the sound of skates passing on the ice and it purrs down Yuuri’s spine.

Yuuri's eyes widen and he reaches down to pick up his skates. “Oh, don’t let me bother you, you can go ahead and skate some more,” he hurries to say, glancing up at him. “You won’t even notice I’m here, I promise.”

The stranger shakes his head. "No, no, I need to head back," he says, makes his way off the ice to sit down and remove his skates, "I need to wake up early tomorrow.”

Yuuri puts on his own, tucking his shoes against the tree he’d been hiding behind. When he looks at the side, the stranger is already gone.

Only later, when he’s skating across the ice, enjoying the gentle caress of the wind on his face does he realise he never asked for his name.

But it’s okay. It’s not like he’ll ever see the beautiful stranger again.

-

Yuuri sees him again.

He stares wide-eyed a week later, at the figure once again moving over the ice like it’s his home, his hair pinned up in a bun at the top of his head. His form is beautiful and he moves with such grace, like it’s second nature, like it takes no effort at all.

It’s hard for Yuuri to come every day - he has council meetings to attend alongside his father, plus his lessons in fencing, history, politics, poise and calligraphy leave him exhausted by the end of the day, unable to do anything but collapse into bed - but he makes sure to take his time at least once a week. Just one night for himself, away from all his duties and lessons and the need to be of utmost perfection, of the jittery, that follows him around day and night.

Just one night to relax, that’s all he needs to get through the week.

But still, he has no idea why he’s never seen this stranger before. And why he’s just seeing him now two weeks in a row.

He wants to step back at first, just walk away.

But the longer he waits, the more he remembers his voice and he wants to hear it again; for it to purr comfortably down his spine, drown his thoughts. And maybe it’s adrenaline or a spirit possessing him or some other deity, that commands him but he opens his mouth in the end, calls for him.

“Hey, back again?”

The man stumbles to a stop, almost losing his footing and Yuuri makes a guilty wince as he watches him. He kicks off a shoe. “Sorry.”

The skater turns to face him. “Ahh, it’s okay,” He calls with a wide smile on his face, like the bright moon’s crescent, that hangs above their heads. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there.”

Yuuri takes a second before he answers to kneel to the ground and put on his skates, tying them with nimble fingers. Then he gets up and steps forward, onto the lake.

“I was the one, who was hiding, it’s not your fault.” Yuuri glides on the ice. His breath comes out a white cloud again, and he’s shivering in the thin tailcoat he’d taken out of his closet instead of the one lined with fur on the inside.

The man turns an amused grin at him. “Oh, so you admit you were hiding and last week was no accident then?” He laughs and winks at him. Yuuri flushes and groans, wishing he’d have a high collar to hide his face into.

“Be quiet,” He murmurs. It’s hard to keep a grumpy front, when all his lips insist on doing is curl up in amusement. Traitors.

The lake is surrounded with nothing but pine trees, located in a small clearing where forest touches the hill, that leads to his home; the castle looms proudly up on the very top. Pitch black darkness spills like ink on a canvas between the trees, but the treetops part and give way to the light reflected beautifully from the moon.

Yuuri halts a small distance away from him, moonlight catching on his hair and face; the man’s barely a head taller than Yuuri and if Yuuri was any closer, his head would be tucked underneath his sharp jaw. He looks up at his eyes; they wink his silhouette back at him, make it mix with the clear night sky reflected from above.

(Such a beautiful sight. Such beautiful eyes.)

The stranger stares back at him, wide-eyed and mouth cracking the smallest ‘o’.

Yuuri looks away and skates past him before he can bring himself to say something. He’d just screw it up anyway, what’s the point?

He tries to speak up a few times as they move in silence on opposites sides of each other. It always catches in his throat before he can. Although the man shoots him strange looks from time to time as he skates in circles, he doesn’t say anything either.

For a second Yuuri entertains the thought maybe the same thing happens to him.

Then he shoos it away into the cluttered part of his brain, that carries all the stupid ideas he has ever held.

The man gets off the ice a good hour later and leaves without a good bye, with a small smile sent Yuuri’s way instead, that has him tripping on his own feet.

-

“Yuuri?” Phichit’s voice sounds far away as Yuuri stares at the chess pieces, his head propped up on the back of his hand. His bangs fall in front of his eyes.

“ _Yuuuri_ ~” Phichit attempts again, reaching out and poking between Yuuri’s furrowed eyebrows, causing him to startle and cover his forehead.

”H-huh?”

“It’s your turn,” Phichit’s grinning, smug and amused as he motions at the chess board briefly, then eagerly leans forward.

Yuuri groans and briefly rubs at his forehead, then stares down at his losing game in misery. Mari would be so amused if she saw this sorry excuse of a match. Phichit has had him dominated since the beginning.

“What’s got you so distracted?” Phichit hums when Yuuri moves his queen away from Phichit’s line of movement and thumbs at his bishop. “You don’t usually suck this much.”

Yuuri keeps his eyes stubbornly on his board. “Nothing.”

“Did something happen when you went outside a few days ago?” Phichit raises a thick eyebrow and beams when Yuuri flushes from neck to cheek. “Something did! Come on, spill, spill!”

“There’s not much to tell,” He murmurs and sinks down into his upholstered chair, fiddles with the sleeve of his silk shirt. “Literally nothing happened.” He pauses and licks at his lips. “I just... Saw this guy. He’s really...” He hesitates but Phichit’s listening with intense vigour so he tackles on. “Really beautiful and graceful on the ice. And otherwise. Does that sound weird?”

Phichit smiles wide and shakes his head. “That sounds so romantic~” He swoons. Yuuri chokes a bit, a flush sweeping across his cheeks

“I-it’s not- I don’t - Phichit!” He shakes his head. “It’s not like that. I swear.” His weak attempts gets him an amused bark of a laugh from Phichit and a warning from their chess instructor to keep it down.

“I’m coming with you today,” Phichit comments a few minutes later when they’ve started anew, licking at his lips and eyebrows drawn with concentration. Yuuri just makes a weak sound but doesn’t try to fight him.

-

 

When Phichit first sees him, he _gapes_ , eyes wide and body half-hidden behind a thick pine tree . Yuuri’s watching intently too, mouth cracked open in the tinniest grin while the stranger moves with the grace of a swan yet again, swaying to the whisper of the wind like he’s dancing. His body creates music, moves sharply, dips and leans to the side. The most beautiful of pas de deux. Lonely, but firm and strong. Like a plea, it draws him in with the stretch of the man’s fingers as they raise to the air then fall to the front of his body.

It’s just admiration, he tells himself. Just admiration for the grace with which he moves, fluid, artistic, beautiful. Like the man himself.

“He’s good,” Phichit acknowledges, pulling his coat closer to his body. He makes a quiet hum. “Like, really good.” He pauses .”You know what I mean?”

“I know,” Yuuri says, his glasses catching the faint moonlight and a smile threatens to bloom on his face, one full of teeth and giddy warmth (it’s blooming in his chest though, and it warms him up the smallest bit in the harsh cold) “Trust me.”

He wants to skate with him, he realizes. Move in the same space, with no distance between them, not like a few days ago, when they each took up their own portion of the ice, each did their own thing. The time when Yuuri avoided the smallest of eye contacts, his voice caged in his throat, unable to come out.

He doesn’t know how to make the first move, though. Just going up to him is out of the question (he’d die before he even stepped foot on the ice) and he doubts the man (he _really_ wants to know his name) would come up to him without being prompted, either.

But somehow, watching from the sidelines is frustrating because he wants to be _there _.__

Oh God, what’s wrong with him? They’ve only just met, he’s going crazy.

He refrains from banging his head against the rough bark of the tree they’re hiding behind to groan into it.

“You’re so whipped,” Phichit comments with a cheeky smile. Yuuri sends him a weak glare.

“No.”

Phichit laughs and holds up his arms in surrender. “Whatever you say.” He hums and glances at the skating figure once more.

He’s stopped to blow into his hands, trying to warm them, bathed in cool moonlight. Yuuri grips the bark of the pine tree, then adjusts his fur cap. His hand reaches into his pocket and palms the extra pair of mittens Phichit insisted he brings just in case this happened ( _“You never know, Yuuri! You said he looked like a commoner and he didn’t even have gloves! It could _be an excuse to strike up conversation!”__ ). He groans. Life clearly hates him.

“You should offer him the mittens,” Phichit leans up to whisper into his ear. “It’s a once-in-a-life-time chance! Come on!”

“Right, because his hands won’t be cold any other day,” He says dryly and eyes the skating figure once more, now moving a bit too close to the pair for Yuuri’s liking. He squeaks and pulls Phichit further behind the tree, exhales a soft sigh of relief when the skater simply hurries on past them with no sign of acknowledgement.

“But...” He falters and toys with the knitted gloves. “His hands _must_ be freezing...”

“Exactly!” Phichit nods, clasps his hands in front of himself. “Come on, go for it, I’m right behind you.”

Yuuri takes a glance at his face - flushed, eyes sparkling, urging him on - and he groans again, burying his face into his mitten-covered hands. The bridge of his glasses mushes uncomfortably against his nose. “Thanks, I guess,” He murmurs into them, but kneels down anyway, tugging off his mittens so he could pull on his skates. “If this goes badly I’m blaming you,” He adds and looks up once he’s finished with his skates, already tugging his mittens back on. The air had nipped harshly at the flesh of his palm and fingers.

Phichit grins and nods. “It won’t, it won’t. You’ll woo him, I promise”

Yuuri groans again. “You’re awful,” He complains and ducks his head when Phichit reaches down to ruffle at his hair. “Absolutely awful.”

“You love me.” Phichit rolls his eyes and waves a hand. “Now go, go! Your future husband awaits!”

“He’s not - Ugh.” Deciding to give up for now, Yuuri cleans dirt off his knees, stands up and steps out of the shadow he’s been hiding in.  He carefully steps foot on the ice. The mittens feel heavy in his pockets.

The man notices him when his skates make sound on the ice, and he stops to give him a toothy smile (and his breath definitely doesn’t feel like it’s been knocked out of his lungs - but even if it does, which it  _doesn’t_ , it would’ve been justified because that smile, bathed in the pearly moonlight, that flashes off his hair, is gorgeous). He waves his mitten-free, cold-bitten hands - full of blisters and red at the tips of his fingers.

“I was wondering when you and your friend would come and join me,” He says casually and Yuuri chokes, loses his footing and falls straight on his butt with a pained hiss. “You really need to stop the habit of hiding behind that tree, you know?” He pauses then dons a worried look, skating closer. He offers him a blistered hand. Yuuri stares up at him - he’s hovering above him, face drowning in shadows.  “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Yuuri says lightly and flushes as he takes his hand to pull himself up. It’s freezing cold and rough in his (Yuuri loves it a bit). “Quite okay, thank you.”

He pauses. Licks at his lips.

“D-did you hear what we were talking about?” He says and rubs his thumbs together.

“No, I could just hear your voices,” The skater says, smiles and shrugs. “I wouldn’t have listened in, anyway, that’d have been too rude.”

“Yes, yes, exactly.” Yuuri quickly nods his head. His head whips when he hears Phichit, poorly-hidden behind the tree, teasing.

“ _Ahem _.__  Yuuri.”

Phichit clearly, clearly hates him.

The man blinks and tilts his head. “Your name is Yuuri? Ahh, that's such a pretty name!” Yuuri flushes and looks down as he fishes through the pocket of his beige coat, heart in his throat just a little bit.

Oh God, he did not think this through. What if the man absolutely hates the mittens? What if he’d rather throw them deep in the woods and burn them than wear them?

"Thank you," he says softly and coughs. The stranger watches curiously, his smile still in place.

The mittens he pulls out are midnight blue, one of Yuuri’s own. They’re worn just a bit, frayed at the thumb and the hem, and he quickly pushes them into the man’s hands. He’s looking down in wonder, with parted lips, as if he’s never seen anything like them. “W-we saw that you were cold,” He stutters and his voice catches in his throat, but he barrels on, not wanting to lose the momentum. “A-and I always carry an extra pair of mittens, which is silly...” He trails off in an awkward laugh. “A-anyway, umm, if you don’t want them it’s completely okay - “

“I do.” The man cuts him off, voice thick. He looks up and Yuuri’s breath catches when he gives him a beaming smile, genuine and full of many, many unspoken words. “I do.”

He coughs and ducks his head to let his high collar hide his smile. “W-well, I’m glad you like them.” He tries to say like it’s no big deal, like the fact the stranger didn’t look at him like he was a fool and throw the mittens right back in his face doesn’t make something heavy in his chest suddenly sprout light wings and fly away. Most of it.

“Thank you,” The man says as he slips them on and lets out a blissful sigh. “These are so warm...” He presses both hands against his cheeks and burrows into them, his smile wide and lazy and showing the barest hint of teeth. Yuuri quirks a smile of his own, his less toothy with more cheek, and worries on his bottom lip, joining his hands behind his back.

“W-well, umm.” A smile playing on his lips, he shrugs. “I’m really glad you like them.” He coughs. “As I’ve said.” He gives a breathy, sheepish laugh and brings a finger up to his face to scratch at his cheek.

“Quite so.” The stranger murmurs with shining eyes, that reflect the clear moonlight.

“Really, thank you.” He reaches out and offers his hand. Yuuri stares at it in the same kind of gleeful wonder the man had displayed over his gloves, and Phichit’s skates slowly gliding across the ice fill the background noise. “I’m Victor."

He smiles - _that's such a pretty name_ , he wants to say.  _You're so pretty._ Instead, he reaches to shake his hand.

"I'm Yuuri, as you know," he hums and dares to look up at him.

The stranger's eyes widen after a few seconds, maybe in realisation. “Wait, Yuuri?” Surprise seeps into his voice. “Like the prince?”

Phichit’s skates hiss when he stops. Yuuri glances at him, then back at Victor.

“It’s a pretty common name.” Phichit shrugs. “I know lots of people with that name.”

“Me too.” Victor grins. “Well, two. Yuuri- “ He motions at Yuuri, then reaches back to adjust his bun. “ And Yuri, my brother. A lot of people are named after the prince.”

“What’s your brother like?” Phichit grins and skates forward, offers him his hand. He has to tilt his head up to look Victor in the eye. “I’m Phichit, by the way, Yuuri’s best friend. Victor, right?”

Victor cracks a smile. “Yes, it’s nice to meet you,” he says and shakes his hand. Phichit steps back when their hands drop.

“And Yuri? Oh, he’s wonderful, so adorable.” Victor brightens and swoons, morphs his smile into a heart-shaped grin (Yuuri has had no idea smiles  _ _could__  look like hearts. But they can and it’s beautiful), rubbing his gloved hands together before he pauses. His eyes light up as his hands drop back to his sides. “He’s a bit, ah...” He pauses. “Cold when you first meet him but he’s a sweetheart, really. All bark, no bite.”

“He sounds charming.” Phichit snorts.

Yuuri fiddles his thumbs together. “How old is he?” He asks and looks up into his eyes (there’s moonlight glinting off the dark blue sky he finds there).

“He just turned fourteen this March, actually.” Victor sighs and presses a hand against his heart with the smallest of smiles. He looks far away with his thoughts, lost in a dream or a memory. “Well, next March is closer so he’s going to turn fifteen, but.” He pauses and gives a sheepish laugh, that lights up his whole face.

“Do you wanna skate with us?” Phichit asks and smiles back at Victor.

Victor licks at his lips and pulls out a rusty old watch from his pocket - the worn silver catches the moonlight, and Yuuri can see initials engraved in the cover.  _VNP_ in beautiful cursive.

“I really need to go now.” Victor frowns a bit and slumps his shoulders. Yuuri’s heart drops in a soft, whispered _oh_.  “Sorry, it’s late and my mistress will notice if I’m out too late.” He grimaces. “Really sorry. Next time?” When he looks up, his eyes are bright and hopeful.

Yuuri smiles at him and nods. “Next time,” he promises.

Victor’s whole face brightens, like the world’s most beautiful sunrise.

“It’s just gonna be Yuuri then, I came for moral support today.” Phichit winks. Yuuri scowls and swats at his arm.

“Don’t be mean,” he murmurs to him and huffs. “You can come too, if you want.”

Phichit just laughs and pats his shoulder again. “I’ll think about it.” He nudges him. With a roll of his eyes, Yuuri glances back at Victor.

”Are you here every day?” He asks.

”No,” Victor answers and shakes his head. “ I’m usually just here every few days.”

“I always manage to catch you when you’re here,” he muses and chuckles. “That’s a strange coincidence.”

Victor only answers his words with a smile, then clamps his hands together in front of him. “When are you coming? I can meet you usually during the weekdays.”

“Oh, umm.” He thinks about the question a bit, touching his index finger to his chin. “I guess next Wednesday?” He usually has the morning off on Tuesdays since there were no council meetings to attend to, and all his lessons are spread across the afternoon hours. “Every Wednesday for that matter.”

Victor worries on his bottom lip with his teeth and rubs his cheek with his index finger. Suddenly, his whole face brightens beautifully yet again. “Wednesday is good, Wednesday’s perfect.”

Yuuri smiles back, part relieved, part elated. “I’m... I’m glad.” He laughs softly. “You should go now, Victor. I don’t want you to be tired tomorrow because of me.”

“You’re right.” Victor smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. “Again, thank you for the gloves. So much. I adore them, they’re so warm.”

Yuuri ignores Phichit’s subtle jab at his side. “I’m really glad you like them! I hope they’ll continue serving you well.”

“I’ll pay you back, I promise,” Victor smiles and waves his hand. He’s already skating past them before Yuuri can get a word of argument in.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” He calls at his retreating back and smiles. The encounters will leave him feeling drained in the next few minutes but right now, he feels too relieved he didn’t mess up to let it get to him.

He turns to Phichit, smiles and beckons him to skate around. He needs the clear head the feeling of the harsh wind whipping through his hair brings.

-

The clock hanging off the moonlight-kissed walls says midnight when Victor returns. Snow, that had started up on his way back, dampens his hair and makes it curl, his bangs sticking to his forehead.

His legs ache from his ankles to his calves, and he has to take a second by the fireplace in the modest kitchen to really stretch the sore muscles, leaning back against the stone floor on his elbows. They dig in painfully. His whole body is wracked in shivers; his thin coat is barely enough to protect it from the snow and the low temperatures, that rage through the town.

He rolls his feet around, stretches them out as he takes off his shoes, then kicks them messily beside the fireplace. The house is quiet and eerie, and only the quiet howl of the snow outside serves as background noise.

He hopes Yuuri and his friend made it home safely before it got really bad.

He looks down at the mittens on his hands - not really anything special, obviously worn a lot. But they’re so warm and beautiful and the first gift Victor’s received in  _ _years__ , so he got teary eyed and choked up when he put them on to feel the warm fabric warm his cold-bitten fingers, that were slowly starting to turn purple.

He presses his face into them and inhales, exhales. Inhales, exhales. His smile is wide and giddy, and his chest is warm all over, tingling pleasantly in the first display of genuine happiness he’s felt in years.

He feels a bit guilty about it, though - Yuri doesn’t have any gloves to keep him warm.

He nuzzles his cheek into the knitted material, kisses at the palm then slowly pulls them off.

They may be a bit big on Yuri’s small hands but he should have them. He needs them so much more.

Hands rubbing together, Victor tucks the mittens into the pockets of his over sized, raggy coat (maybe if he cleans her house well enough, Mary’ll give him some coins to buy a warmer one. Probably not) and slowly gets up. There’s still faint warmth radiating from the fireplace, that keeps him warm for a single second before it’s swept away and he sighs. He tucks his skates into the corner where fireplace meets wall.

The walk through the short hallway is hard and exhausting. Shadows have painted themselves across the run-down walls. His feet feel heavy like lead, and he has to almost drag them behind him with every step. His footsteps echo through the narrow space.

Sleep sticks to the edges of his eyes and he wants to throw himself on a soft, warm bed and fall asleep while cocooned in a heap of blankets, that wrap around him in a warm hug, wants to sleep peacefully and not wake up at the chime of the clock, do more than just prepare Yuri’s breakfast, maybe play outside in the woods together, with Makkachin bumping along their legs, a blanket spread out on the ground and a basket waiting patiently besides it.

Victor smiles at the thought.

Yuri’s bedroom door squeaks open. He winces as Yuri shifts on the bed, makes a grunting sound and his arm falls off the edge but he doesn’t give a sign he’s awake as his features soften back into an almost serene look. There’s a bit of drool dribbling past his bottom lip. He smiles wide as he silently closes the door behind himself.

The room smells too moist and moldy, and the air is bad, almost suffocating. They hate opening the small window though, because the air, that rolls in, is freezing cold and their blankets are so very thin.

Kneeling besides the bed, he pushes the mittens, that he fished from his coat pocket, onto his pillow for him to find when he wakes up. Yuri shifts a bit, and brings a tainted kitty plushie closer to his chest. His fingers make a detour when retreating, and he strokes his bangs out of his eyes, the soft hair at his ears. Soon, his fingers are buried in it, and it spills between them like silk as he mimics the small circles their father used to draw for them when they couldn’t fall asleep.

There was a foreign lullaby on his lips as well, but Victor was a child, he can’t remember the words anymore. Just the soft melody, with the faintest trace of the lyrics still painted into his memory. His father had told him, when he asked once, that the lullaby was a magical one, that when uttered, there were guardian angel floating above you, invisible to the naked eye, and they watched over you while you slept.

A silly tale, really. Victor still tried to remember the exact words to it.

Yuri stirs after a few strokes to his hair and the wrinkle between his eyebrows is back. “Victor...?” His voice is thick and cracking with sleep. “What are you doing?”

“Ahh, sorry.” He says with a sheepish smile and withdraws his hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Whatever.” Yuri bites back a yawn. His eyes are teary at the edges. “Went out skating again? I keep telling you to wake me up when you go, but nooo.”

He laughs lightly and sits down on the ground. “Sorry, Yuri. But you need to sleep.”

“So do you.” Yuri grumbles and groans, then curls up. His whole body shivers, and he hugs his knees close to his chest.

Victor’s wearing his coat but even he can feel the effect of the cold. And there Yuri was, in nothing but a thin sleeping gown, curled up under an even thinner blanket.

He’ll try to find him a blanket or two more. Every time he offers him his own blanket, Yuri snaps at him so he doesn’t try it anymore.

(He does sneak it over him when Yuri’s asleep so he’d stop shivering a lot. Yuri’s angry yells the next day are more than worth it. He’d sleep by the fireplace every day if it’d ensure Yuri’s well-being)

“Mmm,” He hums and reaches up to play with his hair some more. If he was a cat, Victor doesn’t doubt Yuri’d be purring and pushing his head into his fingers. “I will sleep, don’t worry about me.”

“Idiot...” Yuri murmurs, clearly struggling to stay awake.

“I am an idiot, yes.” Victor laughs softly and lays his head on the mattress. It barely dips underneath his cheek. “You’ve told me that a hundred times now, Yuri.”

A yawn slips past Yuri’s lips. “Whatever.” He buries his head into the pillow.

His lips curl in a smile and he presses a gentle kiss against Yuri’s forehead, that makes him groan and flail around like a duck flapping its wings. “Never change, Yuri.” He murmurs and presses the kitty plushie, that fell from the edge of the bed, back in Yuri’s waiting arms.

He leans back to look at him - on an unstable bed barely still standing, with a thin sleeping gown and an even thinner blanket, that does nothing to thwart the cold, that seeps in from the outside.

The snow’s falling stronger than ever, and the wind knocks against the window. He hopes it won’t push it open during the night.

He should move Yuri to his room when he slips back asleep.

He takes one more look at him, at the sorry state of the room and promises him it’ll get better someday. It needs to, for Yuri’s sake. He doesn’t want him to grow up like this, with barely enough money to put food on the table and with Victor’s old clothes, that barely fit him, passed onto him.

With a kiss to his forehead, he lifts him - frail and light - in his arms when his breathing evens again and takes him into his room.

-

He wakes up at the crack of dawn, when the clock tower chimes and slivers of crimson slither through the horizon to bathe the city laid out in front of the forest, tease it with the first hint of warmth. Yuri is curled up next to him. He’s stopped shivering at one point during the night but his feet are still cold, pressed up against his. He smiles down at him and presses a fleeting kiss against the top of his head. He’s careful as he untangles himself from his tight grip. He shivers as he sits up, lets the fleece blankets pool on his lap and he rubs his hands together for some warmth.

He almost reaches for the gloves he had put on the pillow between them but he stops himself. Those are Yuri’s gloves now, after all. Instead, he blows into his hands in hopes of warming them up.

“Cold, cold...” He murmurs to himself before rummaging through his closet. The clothes are all dirty, he really needs to give them a wash when he has the time.

When he’s dressed - trousers, a frayed light blue shirt and a dark vest over it - he moves to the bed and starts tickling Yuri’s face with light kisses.

“Ugh...” Yuri groans and shifts, starting to push at his face. Viktor gives a soft laugh. “Stop that, you’re so embarrassing...”

“Good morning to you, too, Yuri,” He says in amusement and gives one last big, wet kiss to his cheek. It makes Yuri complain some more. “Get up, you have tutoring in an hour.”

“D’n’t want to...” He murmurs and pulls the blanket over his head. “Fuck off, let me sleep.”

He rolls his eyes then tears the blanket off Yuri. It makes him yelp and curl up as shivers racked his body. He feels a bit guilty about it but it has to be done. “Sorry Yuri, but it’s time to get out of bed.” He smiles sheepishly at him. “I’ll prepare breakfast, okay?”

Yuri groans, sends him a nasty glare, that falters in confusion when he takes in his surroundings. “Victor, why the hell am I in your room?” Victor rolls his eyes again.

”There was a snow storm yesterday, the window in your room probably opened during the night.” He reaches down and tugs on his arm. “Come on now, up you go.”

“Fuck!” He yelps and pulls back his hand. “Don’t touch me, your hand’s freezing!” He swats at him, scowls then swings his feet over the bed. “Fine, fine, I’m up, you asshole.”

“Good.” He ruffles his hair, messing it up more than it already is. Yuri’s scowl deepens and he glares up at him again “Now go get dressed, I’ll make us breakfast.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he says, stubborn and cute, but does slide off the bed. He looks around and, when his eyes fall on the mittens Victor had placed by his head, he furrows his eyebrows and touches them with hesitant fingers. “Victor, what the hell are these?”

Victor smiles. “Mittens,” He says simply. “They’re for you.”

Yuri brushes his fingers faintly against the woolen hem. “Where did you get these?” He frowns at him and his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you stole them?”

Victor turns defensive. “Of course I didn’t! They were... A friend of mine gave them to me.” He shrugs and looks away. “That’s all.”

Yuri looks bemused, eyebrows dipping. “You have friends?”

Victor gapes, pressing a hand against his chest where his heart is. “Yuri, who taught you to be so rude?”

Yuri snorts and murmurs something, then throws him another glare. “That so-called friend of yours gave them to you so why the hell did you give them to me?” He grabs the mittens and throws them at Victor. He just stares at him. “They’re yours, I don’t want them.”

“But you need them more - “ He tries to argue, but slumps when Yuri only scowls and deepens his glare in an act of defiance. “Are you sure?” He asks weakly.

“Have them. You spend way more time outside than me anyway.” Yuri says and sits back on the bed with his arms crossed. “Now, get out so I can change, you weirdo.”

He sends a smile his way and touches along the wooden floor for the mittens. He tucks the soft garments into the pocket of his vest. “Yes, your Majesty.” He grins and gives a mock salute, that makes Yuri preen before kicking his feet at him. Catching the hint, Victor hurries out the room with a laugh on his lips.

He walks down the dark hallway feeling lighter than he had in a while. He even kisses the portrait of their parents, that stands on the kitchen counter and doesn’t lose his smile.

“Good morning father, mother,” he greets them . The house is still mostly dark since the sun hasn’t completely risen yet, but Victor likes to believe the portrait smiles back at him.

His smile does vanish when he opens his wooden cupboard and he’s reminded they’re not allowed meals outside of bread and jam for breakfast. He sighs.

Breakfast is the only food they’re not allowed to scrape off the mistress’s and her daughter’s plates. It’s also the most important meal of the day and Yuri deserves more than just... this.

He takes the things out, fishes through the drawers for a knife. He cuts the bread and, just as he’s spreading the jam, Yuri walks in. His crisp shirt is buttoned up high on his neck and his dark trousers brush at his ankles. Victor’s old blazer is draped over his shoulder, old messenger bag digging into the worn fabric.

“Bread and jam again, huh?” Yuri murmurs and glares at the offending food in Victor’s hand. He smiles sadly at him and offers it to him.

”I’m sorry,” he says when Yuri takes it and sits behind their small table. “I’ll run to the market later and get some more food for breakfast.”

“Mhm,” Yuri murmurs, nibbling on the bread. “Can you get some cheese? And milk?” He gulps down what’s in his mouth. “And some more of this jam because yes. It’s great.”

Victor smiles fondly at him and starts on his own piece of bread. “I don’t know about cheese, but I can pester miss Williams for some milk and jam,” he muses, tapping his cheek. His tongue peeks out to lick away the crumbs, that stuck to his upper lip. “She’s such a sweet old lady. I think I might be able to afford some meat for dinner, too. I have some left-over money from the last time Mary lent me money to buy her and her daughter food.”

Yuri’s trying to hide his look of joy, but it was obvious in the small, cat-like smile, satisfied and pure. “Seriously? I mean, whatever, but seriously?”

He grins and nods, gulping down the last of his bread. “Yes. There’s a new lady, that started selling beef for only a few coins. I heard it’s really high-quality beef, too.” He’ll need to work extra-hard to finish early so they could make it together.

He walks over to the cupboard again, pulls out two glasses and a half-empty glass bottle of milk. “Do you want some milk? It’s going to go bad soon.” He shakes the glass bottle a bit.

Yuri is trying not to look like a cat about to take its prey by surprise. “Sure.” He holds out his hands and wiggles his fingers a bit.

Victor pours some milk into the glasses with a satisfied grin, then tucks the bottle back into the cupboard. He hands Yuri his glass, which he drowns immediately, with loud gulps and a burp when he finishes.

“So elegant,” Victor snorts. “The epitome of grace.” He drinks his own like a gentleman, barely letting any drip down his chin, unlike Yuri. Yuri just gives him a glare and hops off his chair.

“I should go, the tutor’s coming soon. You go work,” he grumbles, kicks his feet against the floor and waves with his back turned.

Victor smiles after him. “I will, I will. Have fun, learn a lot!”

“Go to hell!” He yells as he hurries out the room to the sound of Victor’s loud laughter. When it dies off, Victor sighs and pulls out his pocket watch to check the time.

Time to go. If he doesn’t finish breakfast before the mistress and her daughter wake up, the mistress won’t be happy with him.

And if the mistress isn’t happy, no one is.

He looks at himself in the reflection, that winks back at him from the silver cover of his watch and puts on a wide smile.

He can do this.

-

He goes out to Makkachin first. The dog is snoozing peacefully in his wooden dog house, his snout on his front paws. His food bowl is empty, and so is his water bowl, and Victor should probably let him off his leash so he could have a run around the spacious yard while Mary and her daughter are still asleep.

He smiles as he kneels in front of him, on snow-layered grass, and rubs at the dog’s floppy ears. Makkachin makes a snuffling sound and leans into the hand, eyes opening slowly.

“Morning, boy,” he coos and laughs as Makkachin makes an excited sound and noses at his rough palm. “You slept well, I hope?”

Makkachin makes another snuffling sound and runs his rough tongue all over Victor’s hand, nuzzling with a sad whine. He allows a somber smile to climb on his lips now that all prying eyes are off him.

He has too little time to play with Makkachin these days - only on the mornings and the rare nights he takes him with him to the lake - and it claws at his heart. God, he misses him.

“I missed you too, Makka,” he whispers and reaches out to wrap his arms around his neck. He pushes out a shuddering sigh against his fur, rough and warm, tickling at his nose. His smile is back, a bit bigger, a bit more genuine and he squeezes him closer while the poodle nuzzles his own snout against the cold skin of his neck. “I miss you too.”

The snow is seeping through his trousers, wet and cold and his knees sink a bit deeper with each minute. He doesn’t want to let go though, doesn’t want to ground himself and go back to bleak reality, that makes his heart ache in his chest.

Back and forward his body would go as he scrubs the floors.

Back and forward his mind would go, always thinking of the same old things.

At least he saw the boy -  _Yuuri_ , he said his name was. As beautiful as the man he is, the child he was - again.

He laughs as Makkachin turns his head and laps at his jaw. “Just wait a second, Makka, I’ll bring you your food and water. Drink up quickly though! Don’t want your water to freeze now, do we?” Makkachin gives an agreeing bark and Victor grins, slowly pulling away and climbing to his feet.

He wants to hold on for just a bit longer.

But duty calls.

-

Yuuri takes his duty as the king’s second eldest child very seriously.

He has many things to learn (from the kingdom’s history to fencing, his afternoons are never dull. Except when he’s learning about politics and calligraphy but he never shows his displeasure openly, tries not to yawn too much as his tutor waxes poetic about them) and he goes to the council meetings instead of his father, goes horse-back riding with Phichit through the forest, past the mansion by the forest trail then back. He takes carriage rides through the kingdom every Spring, even if his face is almost never seen through the drawn curtains.

Years ago, he had a fiancee. Yuuko, a sweet princess of the neighbouring land, with a serene smile and a cheerful personality, was assigned as his future bride at birth. They officially met at the tender age of eight and skirted around each other for a while, both too shy to say anything, until she broke the ice and tugged him into a game of marbles.

He told her about his first love - a boy who he’d briefly met at one of his sister’s birthday balls, a soft-voiced boy, shy and tender and beautiful - on day one.

She told him about her own first love, who so happened to be Yuuri’s sister.

They giggled together as Yuuko flicked at the marble.

They’ve been best friends ever since.

Not having any problem with the engagement in the beginning, life went on as usual. There weren’t any romantic feelings involved - besides the small crush he had on her during his teenage years, but that faded as quickly as it came - but they didn’t mind the marriage too much. They liked each other, they wouldn’t mind spending the rest of their lives together.

But then, when Yuuko met Takeshi at a royal ball, everything got turned on its head.

“It’s love at first sight,” Yuuko whispered that night, gorgeous in  her ruffled gown, the ruffles on her wide skirt ghosting across the squeaky clean ballroom floor. Artfully curled strands of hair brushed against her lace sleeves. Leaning on the plain beige walls near the entrance, a glass of champagne in her hand and a flush to her cheeks, she kept staring with soft eyes and a giddy smile, watched the man as he laughed, his company hanging onto his every word, sometimes laughing along. His eyes kept turning to meet hers too, even in the middle of a sentence. Sometimes, he turned red when their eyes met, but still gave a boisterous grin and a sloppy wave of his hand. She smiled wide and waved back, like a mirror. They both burst into giggles.

The pattern went on for a long while until Yuuko finally gathered the courage to ask him for a dance.

Yuuko was smitten. Absolutely smitten. She looked at Takeshi, a Lord of one of her lands, like he was the only one that mattered, the only one that existed in her world as they twirled and dipped, as laughter spilled and whispers exchanged, foreheads bumped together.

Their engagement was broken within the course of a month. Yuuri understood, so did his and hers parents, thankfully. Takeshi was a man of high status, so even if they were a bit reluctant at first, they agreed to the arrangement in the end.

Now, Yuuko and Takeshi are happily married (and even expecting children, a letter that arrived a week ago gushed) and Yuuri’s so glad for them. They both deserve it.

A part of him - a really big part - wishes that that could be him someday, so happy and dizzily in love. Yearns for it.

But it’s selfish, so inconsiderate and it shouldn’t be there so he keeps it hidden and only smiles at the third suitor, that visits Hasetsu Castle that day, in her gorgeous beige gown and perfectly styled hair and a red-lipped smile, that lights up her face as she bows before him.

He greets her but shakes his head and sinks back into his throne. He’s dressed his best, in a ridiculous red coat with equally as ridiculous golden shoulder pads and with golden stitching lining the cut of the jacket by the black buttons.

He’s told he’s a catch, that any princess (or prince) would be lucky to have him. That he can take his time because his twenty-fifth birthday isn’t so quick-approaching. That this is completely _fine_.

But still.

He’d rather be anywhere but here.

He’s so selfish. He hates himself for it

Well, for a lot of things, really, but this is definitely one of the bigger ones.

He’s a disgrace of a prince.

-

Yuuri slumps against the large mahogany door leading to his room, hand curling around the door knob, eyes closed. A sigh heaves past his lips. His chest feels heavy again and no matter how many deep breaths he takes, he can’t seem to ease the burden even a bit.

(Forget him not wanting an arranged marriage - every single one of those princesses is too good for him anyway. It should be them recoiling from the very idea of marrying Yuuri)

Pushing his bangs out of his eyes and licking his lips, he squares his shoulders and straightens up, then turns the door knob.

He’s pushed to the floor immediately.

“Vicchan!” Yuuri grins and laughs as his poodle welcomes him with warm licks and a wet nose nudging his cheek and neck. He preens when Yuuri buries his fingers into his thick fur for a scratch.

“I missed you too, boy,” he coos and hugs him close to himself. The marble floor’s hard and unforgiving under his back, and Vicchan’s heavy on top of him, but he just showers him with kisses like the discomfort isn’t there.

His tail waggling, the poodle eventually gets off him and allows him to sit up. He hooks an arm around his neck and brings him closer to bury his head into his fur.

He stumbles towards the bed. Vicchan, forever loyal, pads after him.

They curl up together on Yuuri’s king size bed, with Yuuri’s hand buried in Vicchan’s rough fur, trailing circles into his spine. The blankets rumple beneath them.

With a sigh on his lips, he closes his eyes. His chest feels both heavy and numb, just a void in his torso that he can't fill. He hugs Vicchan closer.

“You know,” he starts after a minute, his fingers smoothing out tangles in Vicchan’s fur. “It’s weird. When I was engaged to Yuuko, it was fine, I didn’t really care. She was nice and she taught me how to skate, I liked her. But...” He hesitates and heaves another sigh. “I don’t know why it’s so difficult now. It’s the same thing, really.”

His fur is warm, spilling through his fingers in rough patches. “I want to tell my parents, you know? I want to ask them if they can give me time to find someone.” There’s a flash of silver in his head and he groans, burying his face further into Vicchan’s neck. The poodle’s wet snout nudges the back of his neck in a comforting manner.

He slowly exhales. “I don’t want to disappoint them though. And I feel like if I do that, I will. Should I just try harder to choose between the princesses, that come to the castle, Vicchan? Is that the best thing I can do? It’s my duty, you know. And Mari did it, too. She wasn’t selfish like me and married prince Takao like it was expected of her.”

But he still yearns for more, somehow. He has everything and for some reason, his heart still wants more.

Pathetic.

Yuuri laughs when a rough tongue laps at his cheek. “What do you think, Vicchan? What should I do, hmm?” He scratches behind his ears with a grin that pokes at the corners of his eyes. Vicchan barks and licks at his face once again.

Another laugh bubbling past his lips, he nuzzles into Vicchan’s neck, his knees almost touching his chest. He toes at the blanket, manages to pull it out from underneath them, then covers them both with it. “I love you too, Vicchan. I love you too.”

-

Victor couldn’t recognise Yuuri at first, on day one; shadows clouded him, wrapped him in darkness and Yuuri couldn’t even lift his gaze to look him in the eye, busy with his skates. He didn’t think much of him that day, just another kind soul (who said he was  _beautiful_ ; that part stayed with him for a little while longer, even while Mary screamed at him for tripping on the rug and dropping the plate he was holding).

But then he was crowned in moonlight the next week, and his cheeks flushed so pretty, his eyes earnest and nervous when he stopped, just for a split second, in front of him and all of a sudden, the one standing in front of him wasn’t an adult, but a teenager, with his innocent, chubby face and a timid voice asking him for a dance while people droned all around them. His breath caught on his throat.

The vinyl of the day he felt alive, genuinely happy and smitten slid into place and played inside his head.

It was just one night, and he’d been fifteen then, just months before his father had died, so it shouldn’t have stuck to him as strongly as it did, but everything was so painful that year so when a boy his age asked him for a dance at one of the balls his father had made him attend, it was like the sun had peeked out, just for that day, and made him smile more genuinely than he had in a long while.

It was just one night.

But he was happy as they twirled, and he was happy as innocent laughter spilled from their lips when Yuuri attempted to dip him but didn’t have the strength so Victor almost fell on his butt.

And Yuuri hadn’t changed at all. Just that now, he’s even more beautiful somehow. A polished diamond, with the most beautiful lines; the most precious of a gemstone, someone to be cherished and protected.

He was like a star: danced into Victor’s life, vibrant and shining, one night but escaped at the break of dawn (kind of like the princess, who charmed the Prince with her beautiful smile and fluid voice, only to, at the stroke of midnight, melt from the Prince’s fingers like she was nothing more than a dream, a fantasy. But he can only think that now, when Yuuri is no longer a child but a man with his low voice smooth like champagne tinkling in a crystal flute). He was the joy he clung to when he looked up at the night sky.

But he was also like the moon: always there when Victor looked up; he could always find him, when the skies were clear (Even when they weren’t, Yuuri was just there, a far away memory, like he only existed in a fantasy, a dream. Victor clung to that dream when the times were rough)

Now, though... Now he’s a brilliant nebulae.  Colours dance on his skin, red and pink, and just the faintest sliver of silver waltzes over hair in a mesmerising constellation (bright and vibrant, like him). His smile is the beautiful sunrise that Victor looks at every summer, the feeling of peace he feels when warm colour spills across the sky and casts brilliant light through the maze of trees, that surround the mansion.

(He doesn’t think Yuuri remembers him, though, which is okay. He just likes seeing him again.)

Weeks passed in a flurry for Victor. Meeting with Yuuri every Wednesday has long since become a comfortable routine, something, that made sunlight peek out from behind thick clouds.

Victor hated routines - his while life for the last eight year has been nothing but - and yet this one, it was dear to him. Victor finds he can’t stop smiling these days.

This Wednesday though... This Wednesday somehow couldn’t come fast enough.

Well, okay, he wasn’t expecting it to come in the blink of an eye in the first place, when he first got the news of Mary’s friends and family coming over for a few days. But he just thought the prospect of seeing Yuuri again in less than a week would make things easier.

And yet.

It was a hell week, almost even worse than he could remember it being in a long time. The mansion that he worked in, the big one in the outer edges of the city, that kissed the fluffy white clouds, was filled with people, people that didn’t care that someone else will have to clean up after them. Yuri got locked into his room with slurred insults and threats to not even make a sound by their stepmother. Her daughter stood behind her, apologies in her eyes but still and quiet as a statue.

It was even worse when Victor had to not only make breakfast and lunch and dinner for seven people, but do it while cleaning the whole house without any help, and serve a bunch of people, who sneered and laughed at him, even attempted to trip him. He dropped a plate and the mistress laughed and yelled at him.

He barely got a wink of sleep those few days, just stayed on his knees and rubbed and scrubbed in the same monotonous pattern, never changing. Yuri offered to help but he dismissed him with a wave of his hand and an insistence Yuri needed sleep more than he needed help. Though reluctant, Yuri returned to his room.

When he brought breakfast to the mistress on the second day of the stay, after staying up until the wee hours to clean the big ballroom the guests gathered in, she took one bite of the food, snarled and threw it to the floor.

It just wasn’t his week in general. He hated even thinking about it.

So when Wednesday finally rolls around, he wastes no time in kissing Yuri’s forehead good night, drapes him with his own blanket, and as quietly as he can disappear into the night, his skates in his mitten-covered hands while he shivers in his thin coat. He puts his hair in a tight bun again.

The night sky is cloud-filled this time, and it blocks the light reflecting from the moon as well as the gorgeous view of the stars. He loves looking up at them, even if they like to remind him how small and insignificant he really is in this vast world.

The lake isn’t that far from the mansion, barely a ten minute walk. Walking in the dark like this makes him a bit nervous; there’s no guarantee he won’t get lost on the way (the flashlight he’d stolen from the mistress helps a lot though) and although the idea of never returning to that place itches at his thoughts, he knows he can’t.

Yuri needs him.

The branches and the frozen grass crunch underneath his boots and the wind presses its freezing hands against his cheeks and reaches to swirl in an icy pirouette against his skin. His hands remain somewhat warm though. Victor burrows his face into them with the faintest of smiles.

He flicks his bangs away from his eye (not that it stays away long, so it’s a fruitless effort) when he arrives at the now familiar parting of trees. Kicking off his right shoe at first, he forces his foot into his dark skate and ties it tightly before he works his left one into the other.

They’re a gift from his father, worn and old-fashioned but they’re a memento of a happier time so he can’t bring himself to throw them away. He strokes the sole of them, smile small and almost sad.

There were easier times, when he didn’t have to scrap for remains just to eat, when he didn’t have to be at the mercy of someone’s whim. Happier times when his family was still alive, when the days were simpler, spent playing and learning together. His mother was so beautiful and kind, with a laugh, that rang like a small bell, sweet and gentle. Their father would always stroke his hair before bed, always sang him and Yuri to sleep with songs Victor couldn’t understand. Somehow, just hearing his father’s gentle voice utter the syllables was enough to lull him into soft dreams.

He still doesn’t know what the song means. But he can recreate the melody and some of the lyrics by memory.

His sigh carries into the air as he finishes tying the other skate and gets up.

Everything was so easy then and now... Now it’s just empty. A film you’ve watched over and over again. Even if it wasn’t interesting the first time, you still wait to watch it again. Everything’s a routine, everything’s the same, everything’s boring. Like you’re shackled in place, you wait for it to rewind and start all over.

It’s been a constant downward spiral ever since his mother died in the carriage accident all those years ago. A year later, his father re-married Mary (he tried to like her at first, if only to make his father happy, but she never treated Yuri well so it was impossible. Her daughter is alright, though) only to die himself in the same way when Victor was fifteen and Yuri was seven.

Fate, if it exists, is a cruel, cruel thing.

The ice is cracked and used and it bumps against the smooth blade of his skates. He slides across it, towards the middle and starts the routine all over again; skating in perfect eights before he circles the lake and changes direction so he’s skating backwards. His hands lift and drop and it’s like he’s dancing, the wind soothingly cool as it whips against his face.

It’s not long before he hears the tell-tale signs of Yuuri’s presence by the tree - familiar rustling and crunching of the grass, an amazed gasp as he takes off in a spin just for him.

Victor leans on his knees when his blades hiss to a stop, but turns to Yuuri with a wide smile.

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri waves and grins, already sat on a tree stump to change from his shoes to his skates, that lean against his legs.

He skates closer and stops again at the edge of the lake. “Hey.”

Yuuri glances up from under his eyelashes, smiles faintly.

“Hey, Victor,” Yuuri say, then returns to putting on his skates. “It’s been a while,” He tugs and finishes a perfect bow with a proud grin.

“It’s only been a week, Yuuri.” _It’s been too long_ , he wants to say. _I've missed you_ _ _.__

He grins when Yuuri stands up and cleans dirt off his trousers, hugging his fur mantle close to himself, and his breath dances in front of the tip of his pink nose.

Victor holds out his hand. “Shall we skate?” He grins wider when Yuuri eyes the hand he outstretched for him, beckoning Yuuri to take it with wiggling fingers.

His breath almost catches when Yuuri smiles and, though a bit hesitantly, takes it.

Victor’s smile grows as his thumb runs across his knuckles, a marathon, a sprint, a stuttering touch. It’s like he’s vibrating, or maybe swimming on cloud nine, dipping into the depths with air in his lungs. Freeing, warm, surreal. Yuuri’s fingers are.

He gently grips their fingers together and skates backwards. Their skates hiss and Victor leads him through the motions of backwards skating after a few minutes and Yuri jerks backwards, leg after leg, his nose wrinkled in frustration.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly. Under the whistle of wind against his ears, Yuuri doesn’t hear him.

Skating with someone is different than what he remembers it being. Being in someone’s company other than his own, to listen to another pair of skates and hear the sounds they make as well as he can hear his own. The sharp sounds of blades bumping against the carves in the ice, of making new marks on every clean spot; it rings through the space, but it’s like the whisper of the wind at the same time.

It’s nice and relaxing and Victor’s in love with the feeling.

(Or maybe it’s just because it’s Yuuri he’s skating with. He’s conflicted.)

And Yuuri looks deep in thought, troubled with his furrowed eyebrows and murmured responses whenever Victor tries to strike up conversation, every smile polite, his eyes unfocused, maybe even glazed.

Victor wants to soothe away the wrinkle on his nose, the pinch of his lips. Maybe smooth it over with the pads of his fingers or with fleeting kisses to make Yuuri laugh and push his face only to call him  _ _silly,__  with his smile luminous yet again and his eyes wrinkling at the edges, bright and sparkling and beautiful.

It’s March and the ice will start melting soon. Victor’s surprised it hasn’t yet, but it doesn’t start getting warmer until later into the month.

Their time is running short.

(He hopes Yuuri will want to see him after this, in the city, in the woods again, just that he _wouldn’t stop_ seeing him. These three months are too precious to him to let go)

He gives his hand a squeeze then gives a mischievous grin and lets go. Yuuri blinks and his eyes widen, but instead of skating away, Victor reaches up and tugs the edges of Yuuri’s lips into a thin-lipped smile.

He laughs as Yuuri sputters. “Turn that frown upside down, Yuuri!” He says cheerfully and grins as Yuuri whines and pushes at his hands, but there’s mirthful laughter spilling from his lips, his shoulders shaking and cheeks flushed, eyes clear and in the moment. “You look so beautiful when you smile.”

He pats himself on the back for a mission well-done.

“You’re so silly,” Yuuri says softly when his shoulders stop shaking. His smile never fades away.

So close to him, Victor can see how pink the tip of his nose is, how his mouth is chapped and bitten-red.

Yuuri flushes but doesn’t move away, just stares back into his eyes with his wide ones, breath held in his throat.

Victor almost gulps from his intense gaze and his eyes snap to his lips for a single second (they look so soft and plush and _pink_ ) before he whispers, “I don’t expect you to tell me anything, but I do hope you talk to someone, if something’s bothering you.”

He gives him a small smile and takes his hand again, just barely hearing Yuuri’s shaky exhale as he leads them around the lake again.

-

_But I do hope you talk to someone, if something’s bothering you._

Victor’s right, he knows that. But it’s so tempting not to, because he can’t help thinking how selfish his worries are, and how insignificant, really. It’s just marriage, just... Spending your whole life with someone else. No big deal.

But his words still echo in his ears (and his touch on his body - he can still remember the phantom touch of his thumb along his knuckles even hours later), rotate in his head on spin-dry, so much that he can’t concentrate on his lessons. He sits behind his desk, head leaning on the back of his palm and eyes darting around the dark room, lingering on the globe at the back of the dark room, on the oak cabinets and maps, that hang over them.

Phichit notices.

(Of course he does, he’s an amazing friend who deserves all the good in this world.)

He nudges him with his elbow, taps his fingers against his knuckles. Yuuri murmurs in confusion as Phichit leans in to whisper, “Are you okay? You’re jittery again.”

He smiles and shakes his head, steals a glance at their tutor - mister Celestino, who’s teaching them Latin and Italian - to make sure he isn’t listening in. The man is still hunched over the blackboard, writing phrases they’re never going to need, so he leans back towards Phichit.

He hates to burden people with his problems.

“I’ll tell you later.”

But he needs to get this off his chest.

There’s guilt gnawing at his stomach and he’s scared Phichit’s going to see how selfish he really is and start to _ _hate__  him, but he desperately needs someone to know.

-

Phichit practically drags him out of class when Celestino packs up his stuff, takes him by the hand and silently leads him to Yuuri’s own room where Vicchan’s curled up in the middle of his plain white king size bed, taking a nap.

He closes the door behind them and turns worried black eyes towards him.

Yuuri’s stomach twists in knots and his eyes dart away. He chews on his bottom lip, tries to stop his hands from shaking, his heart from hurting. It’s to no avail.

“What’s wrong?” Phichit’s voice is soft, a contrast to his usual boisterous tone. Yuuri gulps.

“I just...” He sighs and motions towards the bed. Phichit leads him there without a word, keeping a safe distance away even as they sit down (and thank god he does because having someone close enough is suffocating). Yuuri gulps and squeezes his eyes shut, lets his head slump forward. Everything just feels so hot and his skin is tight and he has no idea _why this is happening now because nothing serious happened, dammit._ And he knows, logically, that Phichit won’t hate him - he’s more likely to not melt into a puddle every time he sees a cute hamster or when his sister’s butler gives a polite greeting. But the thing clawing all over his insides doesn’t care, just steals his breath away, his shoulders shaking and bottom lip quivering. Everything is just __t_ oo much_ and even breathing is a chore and - _oh god, why no _w__  and _it’s not like there’s a problem_ and _he’s so weak, getting panicked over something like this _.__

"Yuuri," Phichit says softly, a bit alarmed. "Breathe with me, it's ok, you're safe, it's ok."

Yuuri gulps and hugs himself a bit to make himself look smaller. Phichit sits with him, breathing shallow until Yuuri calms down, until he's ready to uncurl from himself, until the breath leaving his lips isn't hurried. He doesn't rush him, just stays with him until it passes.

Yuuri’s eyes glide over his room again - it’s huge but empty, with just his bed and a book cupboard, that’s tucked along the wall opposite where they’re sitting. There aren’t even that many paintings hung on the walls. It’s so boring.

“I don’t want to have an arranged marriage,” he forces out, eyes staring intently at his black slacks, hands playing with the hem of his silky white shirt. He still can’t bring himself to look at Phichit. “And I know that’s selfish, you know, but - but Yuuko did it, she married for love and it made me wonder what that’d be like. So now I can’t - I can’t make myself go through with it.”

Phichit blinks, uncomprehending. He speaks up after a few seconds, “You should talk to your parents about this, Yuuri.” His voice is still soft, but more firm this time, less like he’s walking on egg shells around him.

Yuuri looks up at him and chews on his bottom lip. “I know that...” And he does, he really does. But they’re already so busy, so how can Yuuri just come in with his selfish request? He slumps and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.

He knows that they’re more likely to accept his request than deny it.

But the fear is still there, clawing at his heart, a cloud of smoke in his head, that refuses to be blown out no matter how hard he tries to reason with it.

Phichit’s hand squeezes his shoulder, rubs circles, pressing the warm heel at the arch where shoulder meets neck. “ Yuuri, they’ll definitely be happy to let this whole thing to blow over, don’t worry about that! They just want you to be happy.”

He knows that, too. He couldn’t have asked for better parents.

He allows a smile, leaning into the warmth of his hand.

“But Mari went through with it. Mari got married to prince Takao and now she’s happy, too.” He sighs. “I don’t know, Phichit. Maybe I’m just being silly. If the marriage worked out for her, who’s to say it can’t work out for me? I should stop being stupid - “

“You’re not being stupid, Yuuri.” Phichit cuts in. His hand is slow, hesitant as it extends, gives Yuuri room to back off. But he doesn’t, so Phichit pulls him in a hug, loose enough for him to escape if he wants to. Yuuri stiffens in his arms, eyes wide but he slowly relaxes and curls his around around his back. His cheek presses against his shoulder and a rough hand starts threading through his hair. “You’re not being stupid. It’s completely normal to feel this way, and you know Mari. She’s so easy-going, plus her and Takao were arranged from the get-go, like you and Yuuko. But Yuuko found someone she loves and when you saw that was possible, to marry for love, even with royalty...”

He trails off and pats his hair. “You know what I mean?”

Despite himself, Yuuri laughs softly into his dark vest. “I know what you mean. Thanks, Phichit.”

He can hear the smile in his voice. “You’re welcome! When you’re ready, tell me. We’ll go to your parents together and tell them about this.” A hand squeezes his shoulder and slowly draws away. Yuuri slumps into the lack of it.

A smile plays at the edge of his lips and really, _what did he do to deserve Phichit?_ He must’ve been a saint in a previous life.

“Thanks, Phichit. You’re the best.”

“I know.” There’s a flick to his shoulders and Yuuri laughs. Phichit sounds satisfied. “Do you want to play some pool?”

Yuuri stands up and straightens out his clean-cut red undercoat. “You’re on. The winner makes the loser do whatever they want for the whole day?”

“Mmm, I do love the idea of ordering around royalty,” Phichit muses, chin cradled between thumb and pointer finger, then laughs when Yuuri whacks him over the shoulder. “Well, let’s go! The games won’t wait on us the whole day.”

Yuuri grins at the back of his head when Phichit drags him away.

(Phichit wins the game and has the biggest pleasure of playfully ordering Yuuri around for a day.)

-

Yuuri makes sure the first thing he does when he sees Victor again is thank him. Victor skates over to him when he sees him lacing up his skates, all bright grins and sparkling eyes, a rugged scarf wrapped around his neck and his usual coat buttoned all the way to his neck, and before he can even offer him his hand for Yuuri to take, he tackles on, eyes soft and smile sheepish.

Victor stares at him for a bit, as if he can’t take in what he’s just said, blinking, his hand awkwardly hovering in the short space between them

Yuuri wobbles as he picks himself up from the stump, his boots tucked against the tree.

There are clouds hovering up above them, brushing against the lines of the full moon, never touching. Blackbirds sing in the distance and fireflies chirp. The howl of the wind is soft, barely grazing his cheek, barely weaving its hands through his hair, warm in its touch, crisp on his tongue.

Victor smiles at him and just says, “I’m glad.”

Yuuri takes his hand and Victor skates backwards, strands of hair fluttering behind him like a silk cape, eyes set alight, a burning fire yet the lick of waves against sandy coasts.

 _Oh,_ Yuuri thinks as he watches him, feels the shape of Victor's hand in his. He smiles and something settles comfortably inside his chest. _I love this man, don't I?_

He feels lighter than he has in a long time.

-

“Yura,” Victor starts, sat behind him in Yuri’s cramped room and snipping at his hair while Yuri hunches over his text book, eyes narrowed and lips pursued. “I think I’m in love.”

His tongue pokes out from between his lips, eyebrows furrowed, narrowing his eyes. He rearranges himself so his legs are crossed, then brushes his hair some more, snipping at the parts, that peak out from between the teeth.

Yuri makes a bored sound. “Hooray for you, I guess. Can your lover help me do my homework?” He grumbles, kicking out his legs. “Because this is stupid. I don’t care about any of this.”

Victor pauses mid-snip. “You’ll have to ask him that yourself, Yura.” He resumes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes narrowing further,

Yuri chuckles and Victor could swear he sees his lips tug into a smile. “Looking forward to it.”

Victor hums. “Do you want me to help after I finish?”

Yuri nods. “Yeah, you explain things way better than Yakov ever could,” he huffs. Victor gives an amused smile and continues.

Victor sweeps up the hair when he’s done, helps him with homework then tucks Yuri to bed (and pushes his stuffed tiger into his arms despite Yuri’s protests that he’s too old for that. You’re never too old for stuffed toys), kisses his forehead good night. He runs his fingers through the hair, that now barely grazes at the tips of his ears. Unlike Victor, Yuri doesn’t like wearing his hair long, insisting on a trim every time it reaches the nape of his neck; Victor’s all too happy to indulge him.

He hums him a lullaby before he leaves, fingers drawing circles into his scalp and lips peppering kisses over the crown of his head, relaxing Yuri into slumber. Tugging the blanket higher up, Victor smiles down at him and whispers, “Good night, Yura. Sleep well.” before he scrambles to his feet and goes out to check on Makkachin and let him out of his dog house.

He looks out of the window before he exits the room, at the clear starry sky, and smiles.

-

They’re often playful on the ice, he and Yuuri. Ever since Yuuri took his hand, ever since the wrinkle between his eyebrows, the pinch of his lips disappeared, made way for soft features, a crinkle at the edges of his eyes, he’s been so relaxed around him; he let his hand linger on his waist without a comment, let Victor spin them around, even asked him to teach him a few jumps he always sees him doing. Victor’s hand would be on his hips at all times then, always with an excuse or brushed off with a charming smile or pouty lips. Just because he could.

Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind his touch anyway, so Victor doesn’t see the need to hold back to a certain degree (he doesn’t want to make Yuuri uncomfortable, after all).

“I wish we could see each other more often,” Yuuri confides in Victor one day, a laugh on his lips as Victor dips him on the ice. His hand tangles into his hair, musses it up. It’s warm and wonderful. “Once a week is just not enough, Victor.” His voice is wistful, soft like the fluff on a newborn bird, warm like the crinkling fire on a candle.

Victor’s breath hitches and he lingers in position. His back is hunched and his arm draped around Yuuri’s soft waist, digging into the soft fluff of his jacket. He stares down at chubby cheeks and thick lips, eyes squeezed closed in joyous laughter, teeth pearly in the moonlight. It catches on his hair, swims through the thick strands, that run longer than they had three months ago, curled at the tips.

He’s reminded of a golden-glinted ballroom, of champagne spilling past people’s lips, the smell of stuffed turkey and shoe polish and a giggling Yuuri, who shone among the bodies of people with an angelic glow and innocent happiness rooted in his gaze.

The words are like a drug -  _“I wish we could see each other more often_ ” _ _,__ a phrase taken straight out of Victor’s own brain, but never voiced, never confided and it rings true, so true.

He has no idea why he was too afraid to ask for it. Silly.

He guesses it was because he was afraid of the answer.

(As if the answer was ever going to be  _no_ , silly Victor.)

Yuuri blinks then flushes, as if he’s just realized what he’s saying - what he’s confessing - what he’s  _offering_ but before he could take it back, Victor smiles softly and pulls him up for a hug _._

“I’d love that,” he says, voice muffled by the thick white fox fur on Yuuri’s coat. “I’d love that a lot.”

Yuuri melts against him and his hands bury into the back of Victor’s purple woolen coat, cheek resting against Victor’s hair, breath fanning his flushed ears. “I’m - I’m glad, Victor.” His soft little laugh is like a hundred tinkering bells. “Thanks.”

 _Glad I’m not the only one, who feels that, glad you don’t think I’m silly _,__  Victor swears is implied behind his words.

He just smiles and pulls him in tighter. They stand like that for so long, not moving, just basking in the other’s touch, the other’s smell - Yuuri smells like the sweet, almost floral cologne his father used to wear and it’s the best smell Victor could think of. He drowns in it, like he’s a water-starved man and it’s the ocean - and their whispers, that pass between them into the night sky.

They just embrace each other in the middle of the frozen lake - it’s time is running out, but their clock is still ticking, still going strong, like a heartbeat, something alive and tangible, something he hopes never stops beating.

-

They sit down on a nearby tree stump after they come off the ice, Yuuri leaning his weight against Victor’s side. It’s comfortable, a perfect fit and Victor wraps his own arm around his waist to hold him closer, resting his cheek against Yuuri’s hair much like Yuuri had done to him just earlier. His thumb presses circles into the warm fabric of his coat.

They stare at the sky for a while, quiet, relishing in the soft comfort, until Victor speaks up, “I’m free every few days, if you want to meet up. I go to the market to get food or fabric for my mistress.”

Yuuri stills his shuffling to look up at him, tilting his head back a bit. “During the day time?”

“During the day time,” Victor confirms, then pauses. “Or do you not want to?”

His hair tickles his cheek when Yuuri hurries to shake his head. Victor bites back a smile. “No, no, I want to! I just might have... Some trouble getting out at that time...” He trails off into awkward little laughs. His shoulders shake. Victor brings him closer, nuzzles into soft hair like the night sky - jet black, starlight woven carefully into it like a work of art.

“That’s okay,” he says fondly, eyes and smile soft. Yuuri tilts his head back again to see him better, so he offers him the look. “If you can’t, that’s okay. We can just meet up more during the night.”

Yuuri makes a face - wrinkled nose and parted lips - and Victor can’t help but laugh. “I’ll do it. During the day. I’m busy every other morning besides Thursday morning, my dad and Phichit’ll kill me if I’m tired.”

“Couldn’t have you dying, now could we?” Victor says.

Yuuri chuckles and smiles. He freezes though, when the hand on his waist moves, brushing against his sides. He snorts and curls up.

Victor blinks and slowly does it again.

“V-Victor, no,” Yuuri squeaks and curls up again, holding in his laughter.

Victor gives a delighted little sound, fingers tickling at his waist, and Yuuri’s already cracking up, twitching and turning pleading eyes at him, like a scream for mercy. Victor’s smile is mischievous when his fingers dance over Yuuri’s abdomen and Yuuri’s letting out little squeaks and laughs, kicking his legs as he wiggles and begs for mercy between laughs.

Yuuri pants when Victor finally takes mercy, halfway hanging off the stump they’re on, only held up by Victor’s grip on his hips. He clings to him, head buried in his shoulder.

“Why are you so mean?” He murmurs and huffs, looking up with a playful little smile.

Victor grins and shrugs. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I guess because you look so cute laughing, I couldn’t help myself,” he adds, helping him sit up.

Yuuri laughs softly. “Don’t tease me like that, someone could think you’re actually being serious.” He rolls his eyes and reaches out to poke his waist through his coat and knitted sweater. Victor laughs along, takes off his mittens and stuffs them into his pocket so he can catch his hand and massage his fingers.

Good. He wants the world to know he’s serious.

(So why doesn’t he say that  _out loud _?__ )

He gives his hand- his fingers long and elegant and smooth, almost aristocratic in nature- a squeeze. “I’ll try to keep it down,” He says instead, giving him a toothy smile. Yuuri, features barely visible in the dark, smiles back. He pulls himself up and leans his weight back against Victor’s sides, head coming down for a soft, light pressure against Victor’s shoulder, a warm tingle where their bodies (torsos and thighs and fingers, laying limply against the grass) touch in comfortable silence, that carries on the wind until Yuuri speaks up.

“Hey, Victor?”

“Hmm?” Victor takes a glance at Yuuri.

Yuuri shuffles to get more comfortable. “You said mistress before, when you were talking about when we can meet up,” he says lightly. “What did you mean?”

Victor blinks and looks down at their hands. “Oh, that,” he murmurs and smiles weakly at him “It’s just the mistress of the house I work at. She’s my stepmother.” He shrugs and chuckles softly. Yuuri turns confused eyes at him. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Stepmother?”

He nods. “My mother died when I was around fourteen and my father got re-married,” he explains, starting to toy with his fingers. “But he died a year later. My stepmother never really liked me and Yuri, so she wanted to pull us both out of school and I - well, I didn’t want that for Yuri so I managed to convince her to just pull me out of school and let Yuri get tutoring with her daughter if I’ll do all the chores around the house.”

“Oh.” Yuuri looks concerned.

Victor smiles to reassure him. “Don’t worry! It’s not like she’s beating me or anything, and I’m doing this out of my own free will. Besides, I’ll only stay at that house until Yuri’s of age. I wanted to take him with me as soon as I turned eighteen, but my stepmother has custody of Yuri. I didn’t want to leave him alone there, so I stayed.”

Yuuri stares at him for a few seconds, then just smiles and tugs him to his feet. He yelps and stumbles a bit, and Yuuri laughs as he steadies him. “Let’s skate some more, come on.”

Victor blows his bangs out of his eyes and wobbles towards the lake as Yuuri takes his other hand and masterfully glides backwards. The urge to reach out and stroke Yuuri’s hair out of his eyes is strong; he doesn’t fight against it.

-

“Yuuko!” Yuuri perks up when Yuuko enters the throne room with Takeshi in tow. Joy is etched onto her face and she waves at him, then almost trips as she breaks into a run in her high heels. There’s a breathy laugh at the tip of his tongue and he jumps to his feet as well, hurrying down the three steps to meet her halfway on the red carpet.

He hums and pulls back to look her over, in her favourite beige ruffled dress with golden stitching crowning the torso, her hands stuffed in silk gloves and hair let loose down to her bare shoulders. “You look great,” he says sincerely and she muffles a giggle behind her hand. She throws her arms around his shoulders again.

“I missed you,” she says softly, her voice muffled behind his dark blue overcoat.

He laughs and pats her hair. It pools between his fingers. “I missed you, too.” He looks at Takeshi - large and still looking at Yuuko like he had the day they met three years ago, with the softest glow in his eyes. He smiles and spreads one arm, chuckles when the man clumsily lumbers over to join in on the hug.

“It’s great to see you again, Yuuri,” Takeshi says after they pull away, smoothing out wrinkles on his suit. They shake hands and exchange pleasantries.

Contrary to what people would believe, Yuuri and Takeshi were in actuality really good friends; there were no hard feelings between them over the situation they’d met under, as Yuuko’s fiance and a man in love with her. He knew the staff liked to gossip and all three of them liked to laugh about the more outrageous rumors over tea.

“I’m all done with suitors now, do you guys want to go up to my room? I’ll have Phichit bring us some tea,” he says once his hand falls back to his side, giving them a smile. Yuuko hums and nods, eyeing his slicked back hair.

“You look great like this,” She muses, tapping a finger to her chin. Yuuri snorts and runs his fingers through his bangs - they’re hard and almost glued to the top of his head. A few soft strands still sweep across his forehead.

“You should wear it like this more often,” Takeshi agrees and nudges their shoulders together. “Maybe if you wear it like this to our next ball, all the ladies and gentlemen’ll flock around you.”

“Not that they don’t already,” Yuuko says and grins playfully at him.

Yuuri feels the tips of his ears burn and he rolls his eyes as he adjusts his frames. “Hardly,” he murmurs and shrugs. “And anyway, I wouldn’t want to steal the attention off the stars of the ball.” He gives them a grin as he nods at the guards standing by the throne room door. They nod back. The door lumbers to a close as they move further away from it, the sound echoing through the grand hallway.

“Oh, with Yuuko in the room, that’d be impossible," Takeshi agrees and looks around.

She laughs and shrugs. “Things change, Yuuri.” She winks and takes Takeshi’s hand in hers. Her ring flashes in the noon sun.

“Speaking of change,” Takeshi butts in before Yuuri could open his mouth to retort. “How’s the suitor business going? Anyone caught your fancy?” He wiggles his eyebrows and grins.

Yuuri flushes but slumps and sighs. “No, not really...” He murmurs and looks up, around, then back at the pair. “I’m...” He clamps his mouth shut. His ears burn once again and he groans, burying his face into his hands. “I’ll tell you two a secret once we get to my room,” he murmurs from between fingers.

The pair exchanges curious looks, then nods. Their hands swing between their bodies.

-

“You met someone?” Yuuko gasps, sat in Takeshi’s lap on Yuuri’s plain king sized bed, his arms around her waist. She makes a delighted noise.

Yuuri winces and doesn’t lift his gaze from his own lap, his shoes kicked off and perfectly aligned by the foot of the bed. He’s sitting cross-legged on the soft sheets, his thumbs twining together and back hunched over to make himself appear smaller. Despite that, he’s smiling, eyes soft as he answers with a breathy voice.

“Yeah...”

“I need details - oh, hey Phichit,” Yuuko looks up at Phichit, who bows at them, impeccable in his butler suit buttoned all the way to the nape of his neck. He’s carrying a tray of four porcelain tea cups and a steaming tea. a small vase with a single red rose. The creamer and sugar bowl match the cups, golden-rimmed and light green, with a peacock hand drawn carefully on the body.

“Hey, you guys! Sorry, did you wait long? The kettle wasn’t cooperating,” Phichit says, offering a beam as he carries the tray over to the small coffee table they’d dragged to the foot of the bed.

“It’s okay.” Takeshi helps him carefully put down the tray and Phichit sends him a grateful look. He smiles back.

Yuuri straightens his back. “You don’t mind being with us? You’re free, you know.” He raises his eyebrows. Phichit flushes but shakes his head, planting himself down on the bed with the same grace Yuuri oozes while dancing.

“No, he’s busy now,” he waves a hand and Yuuko raises her eyebrows. “What, do you really want to get rid of me?” He sends a pout his way. Yuuri rolls his eyes and gestures with his hands for him to pour them their drink. Phichit heaves a sigh.

“Won’t even humor me for a second,” he accuses and reaches for the tea pot, putting its cap back on. His tongue sticks out and his eyebrows draw together as he pours golden liquid into the cups, and he makes a small triumphant noise when he manages without spilling a drop onto the saucers.

Yuuri grins and pats his back. “Good job,” he praises. Phichit preens, then puts one sugar and a dash of cream into Yuuri’s tea.

Phichit pauses halfway through pouring cream into Yuuko’s tea. “Hey, where’s Vicchan?”

Yuuri looks at him past the rim of his cup and pulls it away from his lips to answer. “Mom and dad wanted to play with him so they took him outside.”

Phichit hums and returns his rapt attention to the creamer in hand.

Once everyone has tea, Phichit sighs and pulls loose his tie. “So, where were you guys?”

Yuuko turns her eyes back to Yuuri. “Yuuri here was just about to tell us about his true love.” She raises her pinkie and takes a sip. She compliments Phichit while Yuuri chokes on his own mouthful of tea, so close to spitting it out of his mouth.

“I-I don’t think I used those exact words - “ Yuuri hurries to say.

“Oh, you mean about Victor?” Phichit says at the same time, grinning from ear to ear. Takeshi whistles.

“Victor’s his name? He sounds fancy. What family does he come from? Is he a Lord? A Baron?”

Yuuri pauses and slumps a bit, hiding his forlorn look behind a sip of his tea. “He’s actually a servant,” he murmurs into the rim. And he forgot to ask his last name. He makes a note to bring that up the next time he sees him.

There’s a beat of silence. Yuuko breaks it, hesitance scribbled in the dip of her eyebrows, the twitch of her mouth.“A servant? Yuuri, are you sure about this?” She asks, voice soft. She reaches out to touch his hand but he flinches away a bit.

Yuuri releases a breath. “That he’s a servant? Quite sure,” he says dryly, trying not to slump or curl into himself as he looks between a worried Yuuko and a hesitant Takeshi. His fingers run through his hair and he balances his tea cup on the saucer he’s sat on his lap. “Is it really that weird?” He frowns and straightens his back instead.

“Oh no, no, no, Yuuri, that’s not what we meant!” Takeshi waves his arms, then forms an ‘x’ at his chest. “We don’t have any problem with his class or anything.”

Yuuri blinks. “You...” He pauses, hesitates then allows his posture to slump the tiniest bit. “You don’t?”

“No, it’s not like it’s illegal or immoral.” He shakes his head and groans, scratching at his scalp. “We’re just worried he might be taking advantage of you for your money, that’s all.” His arms settle around Yuuko’s waist again.

Yuuri wrinkles his nose. No, that’s impossible. “Who, Victor?” He says in disbelief. “I really doubt that’s it. He’s...” There's hesitation but a smile blooms despite, aimed at the leaves floating atop his tea. “He’s not that kind of guy, really. He’s sweet and kind and thoughtful and patient. And he sucks at comforting people, really, but he’s amazing...” Strands of his slicked back hair loosen and dangle over his eyelashes. He blows them out of sight. "And besides, he..." He's a bit ashamed to admit this. "He kind of... doesn't know about me."

His chest feels warm as he remembers his hand in Victor’s, calloused and rough and cold and _perfect_ , as it guided him through the motions of skating backwards.

(He’s an amazing teacher. Yuuri’s a master after only two sessions.)

(When he asked him how he learned, his eyes glazed over and he told him stories of his figure skating mother, how she taught him everything he knows.)

( _“What’s a toe loop?”_

_“Oh, you see, it’s...”_

It was a joy to listen to Victor, watch his face light up, watch his every move, his arms flailing around and passion a pleasant lilt on his voice.)

His smile and eager expressions when Yuuri landed a toe loop on wobbly feet.

His hair flowing free after two months of ponytails, that tightened painfully.

His laugh, boisterous and loud, that cut itself off in loud snorts; it made Victor curl in on himself, then trail off into little giggles.

His chest burns from it all.

Yuuko blinks, then chuckles and smiles wide at him. “Well, you know him best. Just be careful, okay? And you need to tell him about you, it’s not good to lie to him.” She adds and wags her finger, raising her eyebrows. He sheepishly ducks his head.

“I know, it just always slips my mind.” He murmurs and smiles at her. “Thanks, Yuuko, I’ll tell him soon.”

She giggles and claps her hands. “Now that that’s settled, you _need_  to tell us how you met him.”

“Was it at a ball?” Takeshi pipes up, grinning wide. “Was he there with a Lord or Lady?”

“Ahh, actually - “ Phichit starts but Yuuri shushes him with a laugh.

“I’ll tell you,” he says and rolls his eyes, sending Phichit a pointed look. “Alone.” Phichit slumps and pouts, but motions for him to start.

He does, narrates it just as he remembers it, growing softer and softer and _softer_  and his smile does the same. He goes on for so long his tea is cold and gross when he brings it to his lips. His nose wrinkles but he downs some of it anyway.

Yuuko clutches at her chest at the end, smile soppy and fond and soft, her tea cup empty on the sheet between her legs. She leans back against Takeshi’s chest. “That is so cute...” She sighs happily.

Yuuri snorts and rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing special, Yuuko. It’s not even I don’t know how romantic.” He shakes his head.

"It’s adorable,” Takeshi announces and everyone nods their agreement. Yuuri hides his smile behind the rim of his tea cup.

“Whatever,” He murmurs and catches a drop of tea, that dribbles past his lips. “Speaking of adorable, Phichit has a big crush on my sister’s butler.”

Yuuri eyes him as if to say ‘pay back is sweet’ as eager gazes turn to a flustered Phichit.

-

Yuuko would have tagged along this Wednesday if it wasn’t for the messenger, that came with an urgent request for her and Takeshi to return home. It almost gave Yuuko a heart attack but thankfully, the messenger assured her it was nothing too bad - just Takeshi’s parents falling sick and in need of a replacement for the monthly council meting. She clung to him like a koala when it was time to leave, bemoaned their time cut short. He smiled and kissed her forehead and promised he’ll come visit her ahead of time and stay for that much longer to make up for it.

He gave her a pinky promise

She was smiling wide when she left, holding onto his words.

-

Yuuri peeks out from behind the pine tree and grins at Victor, who’s skates hiss when he gracefully glides to a stop after a complicated-looking jump. He claps and Victor gives a graceful bow, the pick of his skate pressing into the ice behind him.

“That was amazing!” He praises and grins wider when Victor flushes but preens, waving his hand. He skates closer and gets off the ice just as Yuuri sits down on the tree stump to take off his shoes and put on the skates, that hang limply from his fingers.

He kneels at his feet and Yuuri startles as his hand gently touches the laces of his boots. He looks up from under his eyelashes. “May I?”

His tongue feels thick in his mouth but he still manages a nod. “Go ahead,” He croaks and watches Victor’s face light up. His touches are gentle as he undoes the laces and pulls his boots off his feet, as if Yuuri’s skin might crumble under the force of a harder, rougher touch. They stroke at his ankles before he slides his foot into his skate, and his smile is little but delighted when he looks back up at Yuuri.

His hands twitch but he curls his fingers harder into the edge of the stump as he smiles back.

“Do you mind if I...?” A finger runs along the leather of his opposite boot. All he can do is numbly shake his head and watch carefully as he gives another little smile and repeats the process, stares down at him like he’s the single most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life.

His chest hurts just a bit.

Victor looks up when he tucks the boot beside his other one. “Is Saturday good?” He asks and takes the second skate from Yuuri.

Yuuri licks his lips. “Good?” He echoes. His voice comes out light and breezy and he chews on his bottom lip.

“To meet up,” Victor clarifies and tightens the laces on his skate. His tongue peeks out and his eyebrows draw as he makes a bow.

Yuuri blinks. “I think so?” He muses and smiles as Victor stands up and offers him his hand. Their fingers meet (Yuuri’s surprised Victor isn’t wearing his mittens; instead, the hem peeks out from inside his pocket) and lace, fitting so perfect together he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to to let go or slip out of the gentle grip he keeps. Though he stumbles a bit as he’s pulled up with buckling knees, Victor laughs and just wraps an arm around his waist to steady him (it’s a warm pressure and he can feel where his hand touches his hip even through two layers of clothing)

“Careful,” He chides with soft eyes and a v-shaped smile, the one Yuuri knows grows further into a heart-shaped grin.

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “You just tugged too hard,” He complains and gives his hand a squeeze, sending him an amused smile.

Something is different. He can feel it in the way Victor looks at him - soft and steady, under tale-telling eyebrows; like he looks at the stars and the moon when they sit on their stump and stargaze, share stories with hushed voices - and touches him more than usual, longer than usual, lingering and firmer, strokes his rough thumb across his knuckles. It’s so obvious and Yuuri has no idea how he couldn’t feel it before now, when it’s glaring so hard at him he’d have to be the most oblivious person in the world not to see it.

There’s a voice - rational and _right_  - that whispers that maybe now is the time to come clean to Victor about who he is, about what he wishes.

Victor looks ethereal, waves of hair spilling down to his middle back, in his ratty purple coat and a sliver of cinder dirtying his cheek, mouth pulled in his endearing grin and eyes like the night sky. “Yuuri?” He says softly, open and vulnerable as he stares right back at Yuuri and his eyes flicker to his mouth ( _how did he not notice this _?__ ). Yuuri gulps and smiles at him.

But it’s too soon to open his mouth.

“Sorry, you’re just so beautiful I can’t help myself,” he says instead, echoes the words he said when they first exchanged words. Victor lights up the same way, let out the smallest of laughs as he squeezes his hand.

“Thank you,” his voice is light and breezy and his eyes reflect the clear sky above them. He gently tugs on Yuuri’s hand. “Shall we skate now?”

Yuuri grins. “We shall,” he says,

He takes the knowledge, the confidence he feels in it and stashes them away for another time, when telling him would feel right. When everything won’t be so fresh and new.

(He needs to talk to his parents.)

-

“I need to talk to my parents about Victor,” Yuuri says to Phichit the next day, when he’s wide awake and doesn’t feel like tripping back into his bed anymore. He still stifles a yawn behind his hand.

Phichit (he looks too awake for 8 in the morning, damn him) blinks before it clicks and he gasps. “The baby bird is finally ready to leave the nest of his comfort zone,” He says dramatically, eyes wide and grin bright ( _too bright,_ it’s still morning) as he leans the back of his palm against his forehead.

Yuuri glares a bit. That doesn’t even make sense and _it’s eight in the morning_ and Yuuri’s older than Phichit anyway, he’s no baby bird. He tells him that spitefully, crossing his arms at the front of his cotton sleeping gown. Phichit, the traitor, laughs and throws him a set of fresh clothes.

“Get dressed, we’re going to their bed chambers. Calligraphy’ll just have to wait,” he announces and fixes his tie.

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “We’re always late to Calligraphy,” he points out as he pulls the sleeping gown over his head and neatly folds it on his bed. Vicchan is still curled up on his side of the bed, rumpling the sheets. He smiles a bit at him.

Phichit is facing away when Yuuri returns his attention on him. “Well, we’re gonna be late again then, whatever, don’t be all logical on me now, Yuuri.” Yuuri can hear an amused smile in his voice. He mirrors it.

“One of us needs to be,” He teases and throws on a silk red shirt , shrugging on his black vest and buttoning it to the collar. He tries to tame his hair with his fingers to no use before he pulls on some underwear and his trousers.

“Are you decent?” Phichit asks after a second. Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” He stifles another yawn behind his hand.

Phichit huffs as he turns back around, the tip of his nose still a bit dark with his flush (though it was hard to tell with Phichit’s dark skin, but his freckles always stood out when his face bloomed a blush so Yuuri was able). “I don’t understand why you sleep without your underwear on when it’s winter,” he complains. Yuuri just laughs without an answer.

“Let’s go then,” He says instead, hunting for his bag, that lays on his desk. He swings it over his shoulder - his papers and pens make a disagreeing sound - and turns back to Phichit, marches out of the room in a textbook-example of confidence.

It all drains away as soon as he’s standing in front of his parent’s bedchambers. The guards placed there are trying not to eye him as he shakes like a leaf, looking like he might throw up.

Phichit eyes him in concern and reaches out to touch Yuuri’s shoulder, only to draw back when Yuuri flinches away. “Yuuri, breathe, you need to breathe. You can do this,” he gently encourages instead. Yuuri gulps. Breathe, yes, breathe. Count to two - inhale, count to three - exhale. Phichit counts with him, doing the breathing exercise himself until Yuuri's breathing pattern is back to normal.

He gulps and wipes away a stray drop of sweat. “Thanks,” He says and takes a few more deep breaths to steady himself.

Phichit just smiles and brushes their thumbs together, then motions to the door towering in front of them. “Can I?”

Yuuri takes another deep breath. “I’m ready.” He tries to look as confident as he’s not feeling then and there.

He can do this.

...Right?

Right, he _can _.__

Maybe if he repeats that often enough, he’ll actually believe it.

Phichit nods and knocks on the door. Yuuri hears his mother’s sweet voice ring out a few seconds later, beckoning them to come in. He pushes on the doorknob and opens the door, bowing in front of Yuuri. Before he walks past, Phichit grabs onto his sleeve, making him turn and face his hesitant expression. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” He says softly.

Yuuri smiles gratefully at him. “Thanks, Phichit. I... I think I can do this.”

When Phichit lets go of his sleeve, he still looks hesitant. “Well... Well, okay.” He smiles at him. “Good luck, buddy. You can do this.”

“I can,” he repeats and smiles, then fully steps in. He faces his parents, who are still in bed, dressed in their respective sleeping gowns and sitting up with matching smiles. Where he is, Yuuri can see their hands laced on top of the duvet.

His father opens his mouth (probably to greet him) but Yuuri beats him to the chase, his hands shaking by his sides. “I don’t want an arranged marriage,” he blurts out and flushes all the way to the tips of his ears as he averts his eyes. He bites the tip of his tongue.

Stupid, stupid, _ _stupid__.

Well, no matter how he said it, the words are out in the open already and _why aren’t his parents responding_?

There’s sweat gathering on his palms and it’s hard not to just run out of the room as silence reigns, clawing its way to his insides and ringing in his ears.

“Yuuri,” his mother speaks up first. Yuuri barely makes himself face her. She doesn’t look - well, she doesn’t look angry, which is a start. Maybe upset? Crestfallen?

... Disappointed?

His throat knots up and something burns at the very edges of his eyes.

“Yuuri, darling, why didn’t you tell us this sooner?” Her eyebrows are furrowed, like when she scolded him when he and Phichit broke a precious vase while playing, her voice just as gentle ( _ _“_ You could’ve seriously gotten hurt, Yuuri, what were you thinking?”_).

His father speaks up, too. “I’m sorry, we should’ve asked you after your engagement with Yuuko went down the drain.” He bows his head and Yuuri stares at him.

That... That wasn’t what he expected to hear when he came in. He expected them to object because really, Yuuri _knows_ he’s selfish and they’d definitely try and make him see that. Then, maybe they’d allow the proposition if he’s lucky.

He didn’t expect them to agree straight away.

“I... It’s okay,” he chokes out and gapes. His mother smiles guiltily at him, laugh lines wrinkling at the edges of her lips and crinkling just underneath her eye. “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, Yuuri, of course not.” She gets out of bed, her silk nightgown brushing against her ankles, and she comes closer to hug around his waist, burying her chubby cheeks into his chest. “Upset, yes, of course I’m upset you didn’t trust us enough to tell us sooner, but I’m not mad. We had no idea you didn’t like the arrangements, I wish you’d have told us sooner...”

He tries not to break down in quiet tears, he really does. But he can’t help it as they overflow past his cheeks when his father bounds over to join the hug.

He clutches at their sleepwear and silently weeps into his father’s shoulder. The relief is almost like adrenaline, that spreads over his body in sudden bursts and he holds onto it until he stops crying and uses his mother’s silk handkerchief to wipe his nose.

“Do you have anyone in mind you’d want to marry?” His mother smooths back his hair and offers him a kind smile. He gives a thick one back as he nods.

“Y-yeah,” he hiccups as he wipes his eyes, “I do.”

-

“Victor, where are we going?” Yuri groans and shivers in the beautiful yellow and blue knitted jacket -printed with tiger stripes, that zig-zag across the sleeves and belly -Victor stuffed him in seconds before he cheerfully dragged him out of the house (Makkachin was already waiting for them in front of the gates) while whistling a jolly tune.

Victor hums and laughs as Makkachin twines around his legs. “Makka, I’m going to fall!” He says in delight, then leans down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. That earns him a happy bark and a warm lick to his hand.

“Good boy,” Victor coos and laughs again. Yuri groans and tugs on his hand.

“Victor, where are we going?” He hisses and glares at Victor when he turns to face him with a grin on his face.

“Just to the market~” He sings and bursts into giggles (and Yuri is so disturbed because Victor’s been giggling non-stop since last Wednesday. He’s too afraid to ask what the hell happened with that guy Victor’s always mooning about but whatever it is, it isn’t good for Yuri’s sanity).

Yuri wrinkles his nose. “Right,” He says slowly and huffs. “Have I ever told you you’re disgusting?”

Victor giggles again (since when does a Nikiforov - Plisetsky _giggle_ anyway?). “Many times, Yura. Many times.”

“Well, it’s because you are,” He hisses. “And creepy, you’re creepy, can you stop creeping me out.”

Victor swings their hands. He says: “Sure, of course, Yura,” but the breezy lilt to his voice tells Yuri he’s not listening at all.

Whatever. Yuri groans and buries his head into his hand. Why is his brother such a mooning moron?

-

When they arrive at the bustling market, Victor loses Makkachin.

In his defence, it’s not really his fault. Because, out of the blue, Makkachin perks up and goes running down the middle of the market. The poodle maneuvers through thick throngs of people and Victor tries to keep up, but Makkachin’s fast and Victor doesn’t have the stamina so he ends up collapsing on his knees, Makkachin’s bark ringing somewhere in the distance. Yuri helps him to his feet and berates him about losing him with a glare, that scrunches up his nose. Victor smiles sheepishly, guilt hurting at the edges.

They look for him together - Victor on alert for both Makkachin and Yuuri - and end up scouting a big part of the square with no fruit. Victor is really starting to get worried - after losing his parents, he doesn’t think either one of them can take losing Makkachin, too, especially not because of a mistake he had made.

“Makkachin!” He calls and cups his hands around his mouth. Yuri’s doing the same, with the occasional leg stomp thrown into the mix. People stare at them in confusion, some hiss for them to stay quiet, but they don’t matter.

Someone even taps his shoulder but he swats away their hand as he calls for Makkachin again.

Until the person speaks up, voice warm in amusement. “Is he yours?”

Victor’s eyes widen and even Yuri spins around when Victor calls out, “Yuuri!” He’s never been happier to see Yuuri than now, with Makkachin in tow, nuzzling his head against Yuuri’s thighs.

“You must’ve smelled like me a few times after getting home and he remembered me,” Yuuri muses and coos at Makkachin, scratching behind the dog’s ears with the softest little smile. Victor’s heart warms at the sight.

“This is Yuuri?” Yuri scrunches up his nose as he takes him in - gorgeous in a red silk shirt and a dark vest over it, a breasted coat hanging from his broad shoulders, with his hair messy and cheeks flushed. Victor smiles like a fool looking at him.

“That’s him,” he says and claps his hands. “Thanks for bringing him back, Yuuri!”

“And what am I?” Someone next to him - Phichit, his mind is quick to supply when he takes him in - crosses his arms at his chest. He quirks a bushy eyebrow into the clean cut of his bangs. “Just trash by the road for you to walk over?”

“Phichit, don’t be dramatic,” Yuuri snorts and claps his shoulders. Victor chuckles.

“My apologies.” He bows his head in front of him and offers a sheepish smile. “I didn’t notice you.”

Phichit rolls his eyes so hard Victor thinks they might pop out of his head. “It’s fine, it’s fine, Victor.” He smiles widely at him, then looks at Yuri, who looks put out, out of place. “And who’s this little guy?”

Yuri immediately scowls. “I’m not little, I’m fifteen, asshole!” He stomps his foot and Phichit laughs, holding up his arms.

“Sorry, sorry. Yuri, is it?” He says, amused. Makkachin paws over to Victor, whining as he noses against his legs. Victor tries to keep a grumpy front but he’s weak, so he collapses onto the floor and hugs the poodle around his neck.

“Don’t scare me like that anymore,” he murmurs, smiling as Makkachin licks at his cheek. “Stop that, I’m angry here.”

Makkachin noses him again and all’s forgiven.

-

“So, Victor,” Yuuri says after Victor pays for a glass bottle of milk. Phichit’s nudging him, Victor sees when he glances over and blinks. “There’s this ball at the palace in two weeks.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen in recognition. “You mean the annual ball in celebration of princess Mari’s birthday?” He hums and pushes the milk into the basket miss Williams had kindly lent him after he realised he forgot his own at home in his excitement.

Yuuri coughs. “Y-yeah, that.” He laughs softly, eyes crinkling at the edges with his smile. “I-I was just wondering if you wanted to go with me? We could - we could meet up in the palace and - oh!” His eyes widen and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out two pale brown scrolls tied with bright red ribbons. He offers them to Victor and Yuri. “Here, you’ll need these if you’ll want to enter. If, you don’t have to.” He adds after a second, smiling sheepishly at Victor.

He’s never been so quick to say yes to something.

-

Victor laughs. He’s laughed so much by now, it’s starting to show in the ache of his sides. He swipes his tongue over the cone of the ice cream he’s holding. Phichit and Yuri are chatting in the background, soft bickering that’s nothing short of friendly.

“I should have known you to be the clumsy type,” He teases and bumps their shoulders together.  Their ice creams are almost forgotten, melting down to their fingers in their hands. Yuuri snorts, giving the cone a few drags of his tongue to salvage the drips. “But you can’t be that bad at ballroom dancing, Yuuri.”

“Trust me.” Yuuri feigns a sigh, dragging the fingers of his clean hand through his slicked back hair. Victor tries not to follow the arches of his fingers too obviously, but Yuuri’s amused look tells him he might be the tiniest bit obvious. Still, Victor can’t find it in himself to feel sheepish. “What I do in the ballroom looks more like chickening than anything else. And I’m quoting my dance instructor so you know it’s true.”

“Nonsense.” Victor shakes his head. “I refuse to believe that.”

“I guess you’ll have to go your whole life in blissful ignorance then,” Yuuri breaks out into a chuckle. “Good for you.”

Victor rolls his eyes and gives his strawberry ice cream kitten licks. A few drips stick to his fingers, dirtying them, making them stick to the cone. “I’ll have to see next week at the ball, I suppose.” He hums. “If you break my toes I’ll never forgive you.”

“Hey!” A hand swats at his shoulder, but laughter drips off Yuuri’s voice like honey, like the chocolate- vanilla combo ice cream down to the palm of his hand. “I’m not that heavy, Victor.”

Spring is finally starting to shine through, bringing the barest hints of warmth, that tease at their skin and eyelashes, and there’s a cherry blossom petal weaved into Yuuri’s hair.

“I’m just saying.” Victor sticks out his tongue and finally starts to nibble on the cone. Yuuri isn’t too far off. “If you’re truly as bad as you say, maybe I should go see doctor Babicheva beforehand.”

“Now you’re just being an ass,” Yuuri complains, then digs his teeth into the ice cream’s body to hide his pout. Victor wheezes into a laughing fit again when Yuuri hisses from the cold.

His laughter dies off into little chuckles when he spies a stain on his nose, a stark contrast to the baby pink flush of his cheeks.

He puts down his basket and reaches into his coat’s pocket. An old silky handkerchief he’d found while cleaning and gave into the laundry a few days ago drapes over his palm and he scrunches it up. He dabs at Yuuri’s nose, finishes off by giving it a little poke.

“There was an ice cream stain,” he explains when he pulls away his hand. But there’s no ice cream stain around his mouth; his fingers still reach out and give feather-light strokes at the edges of his mouth.

As if in a trance, Yuuri watches him, his skin growing warmer under his touch. He smiles lightly and lets his hand drop to his side. “And another one here.” He laughs when he hears Yuri’s mock-gags and Phichit’s excited gasps in the background.

Yuuri stares at him a bit more, then licks his lips clean. “Thanks.” He hums and turns back to his cone with the faintest of smiles.

(He can probably see right through Victor; can tell that no, there was no ice scream stain at the corners of his lips, that Victor just wanted to touch him because he could.)

Victor’s hand catches Yuuri’s in a gentle grasp, fingers fitting together perfectly, the harmony of pinks, reds and baby blues when the sun yawns and ducks behind a hill for a well-deserved good-night’s sleep.

He laughs when Yuuri trips over nothing, letting Victor pull him back against his chest (and steal a lick of his ice cream).

He laughs when Yuuri turns wide-eyes at him and the cherry blossom petal flutters from his hair to the tip of his nose.

He laughs and laughs and _laughs_.

It feels a lot like soaring through clear skies on wings, like the wind whirling from place to place, unstopping.

-

“You know, I hate to admit this,” Yuri grouses and kicks a pebble from his path. Phichit turns to look at him from the corner of his eyes and Yuri presses his lips together. “But that guy might be a bit good for Victor.” He nods at Yuuri.

Phichit hums and turns his gaze to the pair giggling at something neither of them can catch.  Yuuri’s weight leaning against Victor’s side, looking at him with the softest smile, like Victor’s the only one in the world, the only one he sees, the only one that _matters_.

Yuri wants to say it’s disgusting.

(It _is_ disgusting, sugary-sweet and sticky.

But it’s everything Victor ever wanted and he knows this, knows from his longing gazes, the soft words about romance and true love he’d uttered to him every night ever since their father died until he was sick of it.

He’s happy for him.)

Phichit’s mouth curls into an amused smile. “Is that so?” He raises his eyebrows and drags his tongue over the bottom of his chocolate scoop.

“I mean, look at him,” Yuri says and nibbles on his cone before he throws out his arms (he likes Yuuri a bit more than he usually would’ve. The guy bought him ice cream and Yuri’s weak, okay) to motion at the pair practically hanging off each other. A disgusted grimace wrinkles his nose. “He’s giggling. A Nikiforov-Plisetsky doesn’t fucking giggle.” He pauses and lets his expression fall for a single second into something fond, soft now that Phichit’s focused on the pair and hiding a smile behind his ice cream.

“I haven’t seen him that happy in forever.” His scowl is back as soon as Phichit turns to face him with a smile, that tugs further up on one side. “But if the pig hurts him and I have to listen to his whining, I swear I’m kicking his ass to the edge of the Earth.”

Phichit chuckles and pats his shoulder. “I share that sentiment,” He says, voice cherry-sweet. “If Victor hurts one hair on Yuuri’s head, he’ll have to get painfully-well acquainted with my rapier.”

Yuri turns to gape at him. “Oh my God, you can use a sword? You have got to teach me,” he says and grins in glee. Phichit laughs and pats his head.

“Got it.”

Phichit pauses half-way through opening his mouth to laugh. “Did you say Nikiforov-Plisetsky?”

Yuri sends him a confused look. “Yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“Oh my God,” Phichit grins in glee and almost drops his cone when he claps his hands. “Oh my God.”

“Oh my God,” Yuri mocks him and scowls. He hates not understanding what’s going on. “Oh my God what?”

Phichit hides a giddy smile in his half-melted ice cream. It smears all around his mouth and dabs at his nose.

“Yuuri’s been reunited with his first love.”

Yuri blinks.

“Wait, what?”

-

Their walk through the town square ends when they’re standing under the archway at the very end of the town, a forest stone path stretching beyond it. Victor heaves a sigh and turns around to face Yuuri. He gives him a bittersweet smile.

“I guess this is good bye for now,” He tries to say in falsetto cheer but the words catch in his throat.

He doesn’t want to go back.

Yuri walks over to his side, taking his hand and giving it a few awkward taps of his fingers. Victor looks down at their entwined hands and smiles a bit, just a tad more genuine. The separation stills looms over him, a heavy weight in his chest. He wants to be selfish, wants to stay out longer, to never go back.

But like hell he’s leaving Yuri at the mistress’s place by himself.

Yuuri smiles sadly back at him, walks closer to stroke a thin veil of hair away from his eyes. “For now,” He says softly, his glasses catching the sunlight. Victor’s grip on both the basket and Yuri’s hand tighten a bit. “I’ll see you soon though.”

His breath catches when, a bit shy, arms wrap him in a warm embrace and Yuuri’s hair tickles just underneath his chin. Yuri steps away from them, back to Phichit’s side and he murmurs something, that makes him chuckle without a response.

Victor hugs him back, noses at his gelled hair and takes in a deep breath. Still rich, like the sweet cologne his father used to wear, just a tang of spice tickling at his nose. He smiles despite himself, nuzzles and holds him like his life depends on it. Makkachin wants to join in, rubs his head between their thighs. Yuri hurries to pull him aside, leading him back to his place between him and Phichit.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmurs into his hair and closes his eyes.

Yuuri hums. “I’ll miss you too.” He smooths down wrinkles down the back of his jacket and noses into his neck. His breath is warm where it touches skin, makes goosebumps rise and his glasses mash uncomfortably against the arch where shoulder meets neck.

Victor holds him close, revels in his touch, in his warmth for as long as Yuuri allows him. When they part, with their faces close enough their breaths are mingling, he leans in again to steal a kiss at the very edge of his mouth. The skin there twitches and he hears Yuuri’s breath catch, his exhalations warming his cheek. He lingers there, then pulls away again.

He misses his warmth already.

Yuri’s giving mock-gags at the display and Phichit’s hiding his smile into the palm of his hand.

Yuuri blinks, mouth still cracked open a small bit, eyes wide behind his glasses. He admires the view with soft admiration, affection, that builds up in his chest and spreads to tickle his fingertips. There’s the smile, that Yuuri always tells him he loves, V-shaped, seconds away from a grin.

Yuuri blinks. “My full name is Katsuki Yuuri,” he suddenly says, his finger touching where Victor’s lips had been seconds before.

Victor blinks.

_(“Oh, by the way! Mom, the Katsukis invited us to a ball again!” Victor, seven years old, clung to his mother’s arm. He pouted at her, eyes glossy. “Can we go? Please, please?”_

_His mother chuckled and gently touched her stomach, that wouldn’t stop growing. The story book she’d been reading to him lay there, forming a roof. “Maybe the next ball. The royal family will hold thousands of balls, Victor, you’ll be able to go to one of them, you’ll see. Just not this time.” She leaned down to kiss the top of his head._

_Victor beamed and nodded. “The next one!” He giggled and clapped. She hummed and went back to reading her story.)_

_(There was no next one; just Yuri crying the night away.)_

He wets his lips and stares at Yuuri, his earnest expression turned and lips tight, like he couldn’t believe he’d just said that.

“I... I beg your pardon.” Yuuri Katsuki. _Katsuki Yuuri,_ he said.The heir to the throne, youngest child of the Katsuki family.

Standing there.

In front of him.

Why isn’t Yuuri laughing yet?

He does it first, just so Yuuri’d be able to do it easier.

Silence reigns.

Yuri doesn’t look surprised, just worried, and Phichit’s touching Yuuri’s shoulder and _what is happening _?__

“I’m Katsuki Yuuri,” Yuuri says, softer. There’s no twitching lips trying to break into a smile, no shoulders shaking in concealed laughter.

Oh.

He lets the fact sink in (and okay, he’s not really that surprised because somehow, now everything Yuuri’s told him about himself _makes sense _.__ Like that final piece of the puzzle clicked into place and all the light bulbs flicker to life, spelling out ‘Prince’right before his eyes).

“Yuuri, you’re the crown prince?” He blinks.

Yuuri smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry I haven’t told you sooner, I was just... I was scared. I didn’t want anything to change between us.” He lets his hand drop to his sides, straightening out (he’s nervous). “But I’m not scared anymore. I don’t want to lie - well, keep the truth from you anymore, Victor.” His eyes meet Victor’s, unfazed, determined.

His hands are shaking. His teeth chew on his bottom lip.

He knows that bravado a bit too well.

“Yuuri...” He exhales and Yuri walks over to him, lingering in the back. Makkachin is completely unconcerned by Yuuri’s feet.

“I’m...” He pauses. “Thank you for telling me. For trusting me with it.” His lips curl, easy and feather-soft. He bows for him.

Yuuri stares then smiles gratefully back. “Victor...”

“I’m his butler,” Phichit butts in cheerfully, “If we’re already spilling secrets.”

Victor glances over and tries to picture him as Yuuri’s butler - the image works almost too well. He nods a bit.

Nothing is different, Victor tells himself.

Yuuri is still Yuuri; still the same star-eyed creature, graceful yet clumsy, brave and anxious. He’s still strong and stubborn and takes on any challenge with a strange sort of thrill and ease. His smile still blankets him in warmth and safety.

But Yuuri is also the crown prince and crown princes... Crown princes deserve better than someone as low and silly as Victor.

Everything is different.

He doesn’t want it to be.

“I... You don’t mind?” Yuuri asks. Victor faces him again and shakes his head.

“Of course not.” He answers, smiles for him. “Why would I?”

“Well, I did lie - well, not tell you the truth...” Yuuri rubs the back of his neck. Phichit pats his shoulder and turns to Victor.

Victor ruins his fingers through his hair. Honestly, he’s still waiting to wake up, to hear the ring of the bell that’d convince him this isn’t real.

Any minute now, he’s sure.

“Well, true, but I understand...” He shrugs and smiles again. “It must not have been easy for you. I’m just glad you told me the truth now.” He walks closer, reaches for his hands. They fit together perfectly, both shaking, and where Victor’s palm is freezing, Yuuri’s warms it up. It’s so many shades of perfect.

 _Crown prince, Victor_ , he thinks. And yes, Yuuri’s the crown prince and everything _ _feels_  different, _but the beautiful way he looks at him hasn’t changed, nor has his smile or the sunset-pink of his cheeks or the melodic purr of his voice down his spine.

And Victor is selfish, okay, so he allows himself to indulge in his grip, traces feather-light circles against his knuckles. “Thank you,” he says again. His smile feels lighter, like it’s sprouted iridescent wings.

Yuuri looks at him with the same soft glow as ever as he wraps his arms around him and pulls him close again. “Thank you,” he says back. “Thank you. I’m so sorry for not telling you sooner.”

Victor squeezes him closer. “It’s okay, I forgive you.”

And Yuuri steps back after a minute, when Yuri starts mock-gagging and Phichit sniffling dramatically.

And yes, everything is still different. Even as Yuuri lowers himself onto one knee, looks up at Victor with that smile he wears when he asks for a dance on the ice; small, it crinkles at the corners of his eyes, yet it’s hopeful, determined.

Victor can feel his heart pounding in his throat, like It’s taken the place of his voice; can feel it in his hands, that fit so perfectly in Yuuri's; in his chest, right where his spot for Yuuri lies.

Yuuri inhales, exhales. Then offers him his hand, with sun rays playing games across his face, lips curling the tiniest bit, eyes bright. His hand quivers. 

"I’m sorry, I know this is sudden, but... Victor, would you do me the honour," he whispers, breathes, "of becoming my husband?"

Victor lifts his gaze.

Phichit looks like he’s about to cry.

Yuri looks just as shocked as Victor by his side.

 _Yes _,__ his heart cries.

His throat clamps up. He gives Yuri’s hand a squeeze.

The silence stretches on.

And on

And on.

And finally, he speaks up.

“I’ll see you at the ball,” he says instead of what he _means_ to say, then picks up his basket. Smiles. Makkachin bounds over with his head held high, his tail wiggling and he bumps his snout at the back of Victor’s knee like he’s trying to push him towards Yuuri.

Yuuri blinks, mouth cracks open. Then he’s smiling again and it’s like everything’s bright in the world. “I’ll see you,” He says as he lifts himself, but his eyes are drooping and his smile’s twitching.

His chest burns.

Why didn’t Victor say yes?

(Because he’s not worthy of Yuuri, reality points out; his brain laughs and his heart bleeds.)

-

“I think I should go die,” Yuuri states as soon as Victor disappears from sight. His smile is plastered on and his cheeks hurt. “I just messed everything up.”

“Shhh,” Phichit says and shakes his head, crossing his arms. He turns to face him. “You didn’t mess anything up.”

Yuuri groans and buries his face into his hands. The arch of his glasses digs uncomfortably in the bridge of his nose. “I just _proposed to him_  seconds after _I told him I’m the prince_. Who does that?”

“You, apparently,” Phichit snorts and lifts his arms in surrender from the look Yuuri sends him. “Seriously, Yuuri, it’s _fine_. He was just shocked.”

“Oh God, he didn’t even _say anything,_ ” Yuuri belatedly realizes and throws back his head. He grinds his teeth together. “Great, I creeped him out, I moved too fast, Phichit! I only realized my feelings for him were mutual _three days ago_  and I already proposed.”

“Like I said, shock.” Phichit rolls his eyes and drops his arms to his sides. “And he said he’ll see you at the ball, right? Which isn’t a no and is most definitely a yes. Plus Yuuko proposed to Takeshi the day they met so you’re less creepy by default, if we’re already talking.”

“ _ _He hates me now,_ Phichit_.”

Phichit smiles and shakes his head.

“Do you need a moment?” He asks and reaches out. When Yuuri doesn’t pull away he grips his shoulder and gently squeezes.

Yuuri takes in a deep breath and groans. “Sorry, yeah, I’m fine.” He smiles. “When he...” He reaches up, brushes the corner of his mouth with a small smile. “When he kissed me... I just couldn’t not tell him.”

Phichit squeezes his shoulder again. “I know,” He says. “That was really brave of you. Good job.” He grins.

Yuuri’s lips twitch in a bigger smile. “It wasn’t really... Thanks.” His shoulders shake in silent laughter and a cherry blossom flutters towards him, settles on his shoulder again. Yuuri hums as he flicks it off.

“We should go, Yuuri.” He pulls off his hand and stretches. “Your parents must be worried sick.”

Yuuri checks his pocket watch and groans as he realizes the time. “Oh God, we’re almost half an hour late.”

Phichit grins, wraps a hand around Yuuri’s wrist. “Then let’s run!” He announces and laughs as he takes off, with Yuuri stumbling after him.

“Wait - hey - Phichit!” His words bubble off into laughter and he speeds up to catch up with him “Geez, give a guy some warning, will you?”

Phichit turns his head and sticks out his tongue.

-

Yuri finds Victor curled up by the fireplace in the kitchen later that day. There’s the smallest bit of a flame flickering in the arch, but not enough to warm the whole place up so he shivers and rubs his arms as goosebumps raise. Victor turns to face him when the floor creaks under his bare feet, smiles weakly. There’s soot gathering in his hair, smeared over his cheeks.

“Hey,” Victor says and pats the spot next to him.

He lingers at the back, then slowly approaches him. “Hey,” he says softly as he sits down next to him and leans against Victor’s side. Immediately, arms wrap around him in a tight hold, like vines, clutching at his shirt. Yuri hurts just from looking at his forlorn expression, shadowed by the gloom of the night, yet highlighted by the flickers of the flame. “What’re you looking all gloomy for?”

Victor’s lips twitch and force a smile. “Gloomy? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Yuri,” he says lightly, then kisses his temple. His sigh tickles his hair seconds later and Yuri frowns, smacks his back.

”Liar,” he grumbles. “Is this about the ice cream guy being the prince?”

Victor hesitates and, when Yuri looks up, his face’s fallen into something crestfallen, droopy eyelids and tight lips. Yuri sighs. “I still don’t see why you’d turn the guy down, you’ve been mooning over him non-stop for the last millennium.”

“Four months,” Victor weakly corrects him. Yuri scoffs him.

“Sure feels like a millennium.” His features soften as he scoots back a bit to see him better. He reaches out and brushes the soot away from Victor’s cheek. “So? Wanna tell me why you didn’t squeal and say yes earlier?”

Victor’s been oddly quiet the last few hours and it’s so creepy. He can’t pull off brooding and sulking, it doesn’t wear well on him.

Hesitating then exhaling, Victor slumps into himself and brings his knees to his chest. “I don’t deserve him, Yuri.” He bumps his head into his knees and groans. “And it’s not really the prince thing - okay, it’s a lot the prince thing but it’s also just because he’s _Yuuri_. He deserves better than some servant with no education. Plus, let’s say I marry Yuuri - “ Despite Victor's words, that brings a smile to his features. “What will I be able to bring on the table? I don’t know the first thing about ruling a kingdom, Yuri.”

Yuri sighs and shifts so he’s sitting cross-legged. “That’s not what ice cream guy thinks, apparently. He wouldn’t have asked you to marry him if he didn’t think you could do it,” he points out. Victor gulps and hugs his knees tighter, buries his head back in the gap between his knees.

“Plus you do have education,” Yuri continues, brushing back his hair. “You’ve had tutors until you were fifteen, you did amazingly. You can still help me with my History homework and my Maths and Physics things. So don’t say stupid stuff like that. You probably really wouldn’t know shit about running a kingdom, yeah, but that’s why ice cream guy’s there, to help you.”

Victor blinks and grins as he turns to face him. “Yuri, are you trying to make me feel better? I had no idea you cared,” he teases and his face is set aglow by the flickers of the flame.

It’s like a weight’s lifted off his shoulders, maybe the world or just a fraction of Victor’s sadness, that he keeps bottled up.

“Of course I care, you asshole,” he scoffs and glares.

Victor grins and reaches out, pulls him against his chest. He exhales against his hair and Yuri knows Victor’s doubts aren’t gone yet, okay, but he still feels proud of himself for being able to help Victor even just a small bit.

Yuri gently pats his back. “Don’t go soft on me now, old man,” he teases and reaches up to fiddle with his hair. Victor immediately melts into his fingers, smiles against his ratty shirt.

“Mmm, I should run you a bath...” Victor sighs happily. “I’ll sneak in some of Mary’s bubbles in for you, what do you say?”

Yuri brightens and tries to fight a look of childish glee. “I say that’s the best idea you’ve had up to now.” He stumbles to his feet and grabs Victor’s hands to pull him up too. “Want to bathe with me?”

“Aren’t you a bit too old for that?” Victor says in amusement.

Yuri scoffs. “You haven’t had a bath in forever, I know you won’t take one unless I force you, okay?”

Victor, the asshole, gasps and squeezes his shirt right where his heart is, eyes dramatically wide. Yuri hates him. “Yuri, you __do__ care!” He marvels and pretended to wipe away a stray tear. “Big brother is so touched.”

Yuri flushes, stomps his foot. “Forget I said anything, stay away from me, I hate you,” he hisses and marches away to the sound of Victor’s indignant squawks and barely-suppressed laughter.

It’s so nice to hear it again.

There’s guilt eating away at his stomach from every forlorn look, every forced smile and cheer Victor put up, always looming over his head, his heart.

It’s all because of Yuri.

(Okay, he knows it’s not _really_ his fault. In his head. But in his heart, it sure as hell feels like it is.)

-

“Is this one okay?” Victor holds up another one of his old suits - the ones Yuri’s rejected up until now are sprawled uncaringly around him - and smiles hopefully. It’s his old grey one, with big black buttons and trousers, that widen at the ankle; the tie, that goes along with it hangs sadly off the hanger.

Yuri wrinkles his nose in disgust. “No way in hell am I wearing that monstrosity,” he scoffs and waves his hand, lying comfortably on Victor’s bed. His hair is still wet from the bath, and so is Victor’s - curled and dark up to the nape of his neck. It’s fastened up into a loose bun. “Next.”

Victor rolls his eyes. “Yes, right away, your majesty.” he says and throws the suit to the floor. He digs through his array of old suits some more, but none of them either fit Yuri or seem like something he’d wear - too bright or too pink or too big.

He pauses when his fingers brush along the last of his suits - indigo, with a deep blue tie and black trousers.

“Oooh, this is an old one,” he hums and pulls it out to admire it closely. “I attended my first ball in this when I was six.”

Yuri scoffs. “No way in hell that’s fitting me then.”

Victor throws him a sly look. “I don’t know, I was a pretty big six year old...” He hums and shows off the suit.

Yuri glares. “No.” He crosses his arms at his chest as he sits up. His feet drag across the floor. “Too small.”

Victor feigns a sigh and puts the suit back in the closet. “Pity,” he bemoans and closes the closet door. “Has anyone ever told you you’re picky?”

“Well, if _someone_ \- “ Yuri glares pointedly at him, “would let me wear my tiger print jacket we wouldn’t be having this problem now, would we?”

Victor cocks an eyebrow. “Yuri, this is a royal ball not a city gathering, that just happens to include music,” he says, amused. “They wouldn’t even let you in, no matter how ‘state-of-the-art’ you claim that thing is.”

“Well, the nobles have shit taste, not my fault,” Yuri says back and groans. “Fine, just give me the blue one, the one with the white tie. It’s the least crappy.”

“Rude,” Victor gasps and clutches at his chest. “My feelings are hurt.”

Yuri gives him an unamused look. “Victor, the suit.”

Victor sighs and shakes his head. “Can’t humour me for one second,” he accuses and fishes through the large pile he’d carelessly flung to the floor, pushing aside fabric after fabric, slacks after slacks, until he grasps the light blue suit Yuri wants.

“I went to my last ball in this, you know,” he says fondly as he kisses the fabric. “The one I met Yuuri at. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Sure, whatever.” Yuri rolls his eyes and makes grabby hands for it. “It’ll be prettier without your drool over it so give it here and stop being disgusting.”

Victor pouts but gives it to him, turns around. “I’ll go look through dad’s old things, okay? You try this on.”

Yuri shoos him out and Victor hums, swinging his arms as he heads up the gloomy staircase towards the attic, where his father’s old suits lay crumpled somewhere in a random box. It’s covered in layers upon layers of dust, untouched for so many years. Victor feels guilty but he never has the heart to go up and clean it, too afraid of breaking down into a ball of sobs and tears in the middle of the room.

Victor coughs and sneezes as the dust lifts upon the door’s opening, and his eyes water. The whole space is freezing cold and goosebumps raise on his arms, warming up under his fingers as they clutch at his forearms and rub there. He throws another coughing fit as he tries to breathe in.

“I regret never coming to clean this,” he murmurs to himself and shivers, hurrying to open the circular window and let some of the dust out.

The chest he’s looking for is in an old wooden closet with beautiful arches and cursive inscriptions along the bottom. He opens it and smiles when he sees the box innocently sitting on the bottom, clearly untouched for years. There are old pocket watches and cravats stuffed there, his father’s old newspaper clippings he liked to collect from the newspaper every year on their birthdays. There was also his mother’s jewellery and music box, undoubtedly broken (god, he hopes he can fix it. The music, that used to lull them to sleep is hiding in there).

His heart aches as he goes through the things he’s long-forgotten about (and when he tries to turn the key on the music box, there’s no music, though the figure skater spread in a spread eagle inside does still spin) and he brushes the gold-stroked edges of the music box, his father’s old glasses (thin and round and the memory of his father in them, laugh lines wrinkling his cheeks and under his eyes, makes his eyes mist over) and his mother’s old hair comb, kisses the cold metal. It mists under his sigh.

His father’s suits are stashed on the bottom, wrinkled and dusty. Victor wrinkles his nose but pulls out the first one, a boring grey with a white shirt and grey slacks. He discards it immediately, but folds it besides himself in a neat pile.

The second suit is prettier, wine red, black shirt underneath, coupled with a grey undercoat and black slacks. He feels the fabric, studies it - but he doesn’t like it, not when the undercoat is wine-stained so he folds it by himself and he pulls out the next one.

His breath catches.

It’s perfect.

It’s navy blue and long, works almost like a dress; there’s lace rumpling on the collar and the buttons are big and black. Jewels sparkle on the back, green and red and purple, and the collar folds over the breast pocket. There’s a pure white cravat to go along with it. He strokes the fabric with fleeting touches and doesn’t bother fighting off a grin as he strips off his work clothes to slip into it.

It fits like it was tailored for him, snug on his waist and shoulders. He feels like a prince in it.

He spins and takes an imaginary hand in his, puts his hand on an imaginary neck and he’s __dancing__ , feet stumbling over the rusty steps, and he swears he feels a phantom touch on the small of his back. In his head he’s in a gold-glinted ballroom; champagne’s spilling past people’s lips and the place smells like stuffed turkey and shoe polish and Yuuri’s there, dancing with him, dipping him, his hand sliding over his thigh to steady him.

His ponytail loosens and his hair spills out in waves and threads down his back.

Just when he’s gathering it back, he hears the door creak open and he spins around, gives Yuri a wide smile.

“Wow,” they both breathe at the same time. Victor stares wide-eyed at Yuri: the suit fits him to a T, and the colour goes amazing with Yuri’s eyes. He gives a gleaming smile and claps his hands.

”Oh my god, Yuri, you look so beautiful!” He praises, bobs on the balls of his feet. “That blue really makes your eyes pop and oh god, your hair is long enough to braid along the sides, you are _so_ wearing it like that.”

Yuri blinks, gapes as he takes him in. Victor gives a cocky little smile and spins around. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Uhh, yeah,” Yuri says and whistles a bit. “Wow. It - it really fits you, Victor.”

Victor beams. “Thank you,” he says and walks over to him, bows in front of him. Yuri snorts as Victor asks, “May I have this dance, your majesty?”

“Oh god, my brother is a giant dork.” Yuri shakes his head in amusement but takes Victor’s hand. “Sure, but I’m leading.”

Victor smiles fondly at him. “As you wish.”

-

Mari drops in three days before her birthday ball. Unsurprisingly, Yuuri can’t tear himself away from her, hugs her whenever he can. He hugs her the second Takao and her step out of their coach, hugs her when they finish lunch, hugs her when they arrive in Mari’s old bedroom, plain and bare of everything but a bed and coffee table, to catch up.

“Thanks, Phichit,” Mari chuckles when Phichit brings them their tea and manages to dislodge Yuuri off her enough to take hers off the tray. Phichit puts Yuuri’s down on the small coffee table, bids them adieu and bows before he walks out of the room, closes the door after himself.

Yuuri looks up at Mari, still leaning against her side. “How have you been, Mari?” He only sees her twice a year, for her and for Yuuri’s birthday okay, he misses her. He has every right to cling to her for the whole day without feeling guilty.

She smiles in amusement. Her hair is shorter than last year again, held back by a purple headband, perfectly curled at the tips. She pats his hair, brings him closer and he leans his head on her shoulder.

“Mmm, good. I missed you, life’s boring without you around, Yuuri,” she says.

Yuuri snorts and looks up at her with raised eyebrows. “You say that every year,” he says in amusement.

She shrugs. “I mean it every year.” She takes a sip of her black tea, no sugar or cream and licks at her lips.

Yuuri hums and reaches up, poking her ears. “You got more piercings?” He asks and eyes the new one, black and shiny. He touches the shell of his own ear and winces because god, he can’t imagine that not hurting. Just pinching the skin there makes sharp pain flare up.

She grins and puts down her tea to thumb at her piercings. “Ahh, you noticed? Isn’t it cool?” She asks with child-like glee. Yuuri grins.

“Very,” he answers. “You should get one in the actual lobe though, don’t you think? Plus, don’t all of these hurt?”

“I can handle a bit of pain, baby brother,” she snorts and pokes at his side. He snorts, then crescendos in a laugh when she begins tickling him, making him fall back on her bed. His hair fans out against the pillow and he tries to knee her off him.

“Mercy, mercy!” He wheezes and flails. She grins and just tickles his ribs until he’s gasping for air, face flushed, pain flaring up in his sides. He curls up on the bed when she shifts off him and starts threading her fingers through his hair instead.

“Why does everyone tickle me these days, this is so not fair,” he says between deep breaths, tries to glare at her. She only laughs and pats his head. With a huff, he relaxes into the pillow. The fingers in his hair are so relaxing they almost lull him into deep sleep, a smile on his face and glasses on his nose forgotten. Mari carefully pries them off his face and he murmurs a ‘thank you’.

“Hey, Yuuri?” Her fingers are still playing with his hair, turning him into putty.

Yuuri hums and blinks his eyes to look at her. She’s blurry, a barely recognizable blob but he swears he sees her smiling at him. “Hmm?”

She does this __thing__ , twirls a strand around her finger and he absolutely _melts _,__ like ice under sunshine. “Do you want to help me with my dress and hair and make up? I’ll do your hair and make up, if you want me to,” she offers.

He hides a grin into the pillow. “You’d do that?”

“Only if my eyeliner looks like eyeliner and my eyeshadow doesn’t look like I painted black oil paint on my eyes.” She snorts and if she does that thing with his hair again, he’ll say yes to committing murder. “You up for the challenge?”

“If you stop being an ass,” he grumbles but turns his head to grin at her. “You’re on.”

-

Yuri insists on braiding Victor’s hair for the ball on the day of. He carefully slides their mother’s hair comb above his messy braid when he’s finished, grins and says something about ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue’ while the light blue sapphire glimmers, seated among thick silver vines, that curl one around the other.

Victor looks breathtaking.

He hugs Yuri in thanks, doesn’t stop for ten short minutes.

-

Victor makes a triumphant sound when he finishes braiding Yuri’s hair at the side of his head, ribbons woven between strands of gold. Yuri takes one look at himself in the mirror and gets this big, happy look on his face, one he hasn’t worn in so long - genuine, reflecting the child he really is, not burdened by Victor’s problems or Victor’s happiness, by _Victor._

Yuri strikes a few poses, flips his bangs, then turns to Victor and says coolly, “Not shabby for an old man. I can do it better though.”

Victor hears the ‘thank you’ behind his words so he just grins and answers, “I don’t doubt that.”

-

Hair made: check.

Suits ironed and cleaned: check.

Invitations in pockets: check and check.

Ride: ... this is not going to end well.

-

“Can’t we just walk to the palace?” Yuri looks down at the mistress, who’s huddled up close to her daughter, talking in her obnoxiously loud voice - something about seducing the prince now that his arranged marriages have come to an end and he’s free to choose as he pleases. Yuri snorts - no way is he going to spare even a look at the cow when all his attention will be on Victor alone. “Better than getting a lift with this hag.”

“Yuri, we must come to the palace in a carriage,” Victor gently chides, but looks down at the bottom of the stairs in unease. “It’s an unspoken rule.”

“This sucks.” Yuri groans and smooths out wrinkles on his suit, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I’d rather throw myself down these stairs. Or her. Call her up here and I’ll push”

“Yuri!” He gasps, obviously tickled pink but trying not to show it. “Play nice for the evening, she is our ride.”

“She never played nice with us,” he points out but huffs out a sigh and pushes a strand behind his ear. “Let’s just go. You do all the talking, if I have to sweet talk her I’ll throw up.”

“And I won’t?” Victor rolls his eyes but straightens his back and pushes out his chest. He hurries down the stairs (Yuri’s still surprised their father’s old dress shoes fit him). “Mary, May, wait!” He calls and the show is on. Yuri follows after, slower, more casual, chin held high.

Mary turns her wrinkled face their way and scowls. “What is the meaning of this?” She demands, hand on her hips (and her dress is fucking ugly, Yuri thinks, a gross pink for her gross personality. He still can’t stand looking at her without feeling sick).

Victor offers her a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I know this is a lot to ask but would you mind giving us a lift as well?”

“When did I say you two could go?” She narrows her eyes at him. “You two don’t even have invitations.”

“We got invitations,” Victor counters, smile tight, crinkling the edges of his eyes. “I finished every chore I had twice over, so please? We’ll stay far away from you. We won’t embarrass you, I promise.”

She scowls, showing off her rotten teeth. Her eyes narrow and she looks a bit like a boar (a lot like a boar). “You most certainly aren’t going anywhere.” She huffs and walks over. May stretches out her arm to grab at her sleeve, but falters and looks away instead.

 _Coward _,__ Yuri thinks and gulps deeply. He tries to step in front of Victor, shield him but Victor outstretches a hand and blocks his path.

“Especially - “ She stops once she’s at Victor’s side and, before either one of them could react, pulls on his sleeve and rips the stitches so it hangs half-dead on his arm. Victor stares wide-eyed. “Not with this thing. Do you know how embarrassing you look? I won’t let the likes of you shame me in front of the royal family.”

There’s blood bubbling under the surface, and Yuri almost hears it in his ears, feels it in his clenched jaw, the knot in his throat, that’s the only thing stopping him from yelling and screaming at her to stop, to leave Victor _alone_. It’s like his voice is lost, wandered off somewhere else and he can’t find it anymore.

“Mother, I think we should - “ May starts but Mary shushes her.

She grabs the jacket and yanks it open, making all the buttons fall off. Victor’s breath hitches and the vulnerable look on his face stabs at Yuri’s insides, makes his fingers clench and unclench. “What century is this suit from, Victor? And how dare you go through your father’s things without my permission in the first place,” she spits in his face.

“Hey, hag, don’t!” Yuri finally chokes out but it’s too late, Victor’s suit is useless as she rips the other sleeve and laughs, like hundreds of needles prickling his skin. Something burns at the edges of his eyes and he jumps at her but Victor grabs his arm.

She saunters away, smirking as Yuri yells for Victor to let him go.

Victor’s tears are overflowing but he doesn’t let go of Yuri’s hand until the coach has long since driven off to the constant patter of hooves against the stone path.

Victor slumps and uncurls his fingers from Yuri’s suit, falls to his knee. The hair comb loosens and falls to the marble floor with a whispered clunk. Yuri feels a tear roll down his face and he furiously wipes it away.

“Why didn’t you let me at her?” He whispers.

Victor sighs and looks up at the painted ceiling. His smile is pained, strained. Yuri really, really hates him. “There’d be no point. She could have hurt you, Yuri.”

“So?” Yuri grinds his teeth together and rubs at his eyes again. His voice comes out a strained whisper, “Look what she did to you. You’re _crying_ , Victor.”

He looks genuinely surprised. “Oh, am I?” He touches a wet cheek and chuckles. “I haven’t cried in years, this is almost freeing.”

“Cut the bullshit!” Yuri stomps his foot. His face contours in an ugly expression and Victor turns his surprised expression his way. “You can’t just give up! You could’ve had a way better life with ice cream guy, just go, go! He won’t give a shit if you turn up ripped and battered.”

Victor exhales and looks down at his ruined suit - wet spots bloom on the silk shirt revealed underneath - smooths it down with his hands. “And leave you here? With her?” He looks up at the ceiling again. “Do you really think I intended to marry Yuuri in the first place?”

Yuri blinks, loosens his stance in confusion. “Uh, duh? You love the guy.”

“That I do.” He chuckles softly, exhales again. He closes his eyes and Yuri’s chest hurts, anger and betrayal and confusion and __guilt__ , that eats away at him. “But Yuri, I love you too. I wouldn’t just leave you here. I’m selfish, I admit, but not that selfish.”

Yuri is left speechless, and he’s not sure if he should be grateful or only more guilty because once again, Victor is throwing away life, __happiness__ to protect Yuri’s. As if once wasn’t enough.

He wants to say something, but all the anger he’s held, all the tension bleeds out of him, and he’s left empty, void of emotion but another tear just selfishly falls again. He collapses on his knees, sits down next to Victor and leans his weight against his side, his head on his shoulder. Just like he’s always done, every single one of his worries supported on Victor’s shoulder. He bites his lip and softly sobs into his ripped sleeve and can’t seem to stop.

Victor presses a kiss against his hair. _“Poj solovushka, poj solovushka nado mnoju...” /Sing nightingale, sing nightingale above me.../_ He sings into his scalp, voice thick and Yuri just cries harder.

“T-that’s, oh God...” He whispers and looks up, gulping down a knot in his throat. “It’s mom’s lullaby...You remember the words?”

Victor only smiles and kisses his hair again, and his voice carries the tune barely above a whisper as he rocks him forward and back and forwards and back, until Yuri stops hiccuping and just tries breathing.

“Come,” Victor says in a few minutes, Yuri’s eyes drooping in exhaustion. Yuri grunts as he’s slowly pulled to his feet. “We should get you to bed.”

Yuri yawns and grabs onto his sides. Victor unravels his braid and leans down to pick up their mother’s hair comb, cradles it in his hand and stares mournfully. Yuri hugs him around the waist and Victor brightens and pats his head.

“Do you want to get some fresh air, Yuri?” He whispers and presses a kiss against the top of his head. Without a word, Yuri nods.

And just then, “Well, this is quite touching.”

Victor’s voice catches and Yuri yells and jumps back, looking side to side. His heart races, catches in his throat and his skin prickles. There’s no one there to greet them, just the darkness of the hallway, the twinkling of the chandelier and the candles lit to brighten the space; not a shadow in sight, just silence, unnerving, eerie, the sound of the wind outside, the crackling of tree branches. His palms are sweaty and he scowls, shouts for the person to show themselves, to stop hiding but there’s no answer, no rustling of clothes, no breathing.

“Chris?” Victor says and looks around. He’s tense, wide-eyed and mouth agape. “Chris, is that you?”

“Ah, ah,” there it is again, the voice, thick with amusement, slurring the words, dripping with amusement. “Your eyes are _too low,_ my dear. Up here.”

There’s a click and then a flash of light and Yuri falls back, hisses as sharp pain flares up from his behind. “What the-?”

And when he looks up towards the source, there’s someone _floating_ there, in a cashmere robe and nothing else and Yuri screams again.

“Ah, excuse me, I did not mean to frighten,” The _floating person_ says and lowers themselves down to the floor. Fluffy bunny slippers touch the marble floor and the person lifts rose-tinted glasses off their nose, so green eyes can wink back at him.

Yuri is a brave fifteen year old okay, he’s not a _child_ who believes in fairy tales, which means _floating people don’t exist,_  which suggests he fell asleep on Victor’s shoulder and therefore has every right to whimper. It’s not like this is real life and Victor’ll remember this.

“Chris?” Victor breaths besides him, still wide-eyed, still stiff.

“ _Bonsoir _,__  Victor,” The floating person says and bows, “ _ça va?” / Good evening, Victor, how are you?/_ Wow, Yuri can speak French in his dream despite never learning a word of it, interesting. Even if he has no idea what the floating person said.

Victor blinks, tries speaking a few times but his voice catches in his throat. He manages to say, _“Je ne sais pas, merci de demander,” /I don’t know, thanks for asking/_ that’s quickly followed by, “What are you doing here?” in English.

The floating person sighs and folds their glasses, stuffs them in the pocket of their robe. “Excuse my, ahh, abrupt intrusion,” they say and pull out a thin silver stick from the same robe.

 _Wow_ , Yuri thinks briefly. _That thing looks way too long to fit in that small thing._

He gulps and tugs on Victor’s slacks. “Victor,” he says faintly. “Who’s that floating person?”

Victor blinks, opens his mouth, closes it, opens and closes. “My... my old French tutor,” he answers after a few minutes, offers him his hand to pull him up. Yuri takes it and stumbles to his feet, brushing away dust from his slacks, then turns to stare at the person. “He’s Christophe, my old French tutor.”

Christophe’s watching them, amused, arms crossed.

Yuri opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “How do you float?” He finally settles on asking instead of _who the hell are you_ and _why didn’t you tutor me too_ or _how do I know random French in my dream_.

Christophe hums and chuckles. “That is for me to know, Yuri, apologies.” He turns to Victor and looks him up and down, then wrinkles his nose. “Oh dear, that is __way__  out of fashion, Victor.”

Victor makes a face and tugs his coat tighter to himself in defence. “It’s my father’s coat, I love it,” he says back, lifts his chin high. Christophe raises his eyebrows and looks him up and down again, eyes lingering on his waist, then his shoulders, then the comb peeking out from between Victor’s fingers.

“I gave your mother that comb,” he says after a few moments and swings the stick he’s holding from side to side. Yuri gapes as sparkles float out of it, that turn into a shower when they touch the floor and explode. “Quite beautiful, isn’t it?”

Victor blinks and looks down at the combs. “Ah, really? I never knew...” He eyes Christophe and licks his lips. His eyes narrow when he takes notice of the silver glimmering, exploding into hundreds little sparkles. “What... what are you?”

“I,” Christophe says and gives a swift flick of the stick above himself. Sparkles rain over him and he’s _glowing purple_  and now Yuri knows he’s dreaming because when the bubble of sparkles pops, Christophe’s standing there in a black suit, red swirls reaching up for his collar, spiral down the sleeves to his long fingers. His glasses are circular and champagne-tinted now, and his lips a light pink, his hair blond instead of dark brown. “Am your dream come true, your guardian angel.”

Yuri wrinkles his nose. “You don’t have any wings, plus if you’re really our guardian angel, you suck at your job since the old hag and her daughter are still treating us like shit.”

Christophe winces. “Alright, I admit, that’s hard to watch, and I apologise,” he says and sighs. He runs his fingers through his hair. “And I’m not a guardian angel as much as a fairy godfather. I did try to help you two as much as I could with limited things - I got your stepsister to do the dishes while you were sick, for example - but I really could do nothing more. My magic is limited, you see, it only works until midnight and - oh dear, let’s just let this drop, we’re only losing precious time.” He shakes his head and laughs softly.

Yuri wrinkles his nose. “Time?” He echoes. “Time for what?”

Christophe raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms again. “The royal ball, of course.”

Victor gasps and widens his eyes. He stumbles forward and grabs his forearm. “You... you can get us there?” He whispers.

Christophe grins, sunny, blinding, full of teeth. “Get you there? Honey, I can make you the most stunning people at the ball, make sure your stepmother and stepsister can’t recognise you if you so wish.” He reaches out and pats his cheek. “So you can dance away with your prince charming and live happily ever after.”

Victor’s breath hitches. “I...” He licks at his lips. “Make sure no one can recognise us and you’ve got a deal.”

Christophe blinks. “No one? But Yuuri - “

“I just want one dance with him,” Victor interrupts him. “That’s all. I just want to be with him one last time. And return his gloves.”

Christophe looks at him sadly. “Victor, are you sure about this?”

“Positive.” Victor gulps and his arms fall to his sides. “I’m positive, Chris. Please.”

Chris studies his face and Yuri hopes, _yearns_ that he’ll fight him, that he’ll say no. Instead, he sighs and nods, says, “As you wish,” with a sad little smile. Victor perks up and nods, pulls him in a hug.

“Thank you,” he whispers and squeezes him closer. He pulls away after a few seconds, bounds over to Yuri’s sides, wearing a wide grin. He claps and bobs on the balls of his feet. “Then, fix my suit for me and we’re good to go?”

Christophe laughs and taps his stick - _or is it wand? It’s probably a wand_ \- to his temples again. “I can’t fix it, unfortunately, that’s not how my magic works,” he says in amusement and Victor deflates a bit. “I can, however, change it up a bit.” He cracks his fingers. “You’ll be the star of the ball by the time I’m done with you.”

Victor perks up again.

Then deflates when Christophe says, “But your suit will have to wait for later. Now, now we need to make you two a carriage.”

Yuri laughs and takes Victor’s hand, follows Christophe outside. Well, enjoying this dream for a little while won’t hurt.

-

“Okay, so mind telling us why you made us gather a pumpkin, Makkachin, a lizard from the watering can and catch four mice - which was fucking difficult to do, mind you,” Yuri grumbles as he puts down the watering can, four mice cowering on the inside.

Victor wipes sweat away from his forehead and puts down the pumpkin from the garden with a groan. His arms throb with pain and he stretches them above his head, arches his back. “And the pumpkin is heavy, too.”

Chris rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “You’ll like this, I promise,” he winks and Victor snorts, watches him as he approaches the pumpkin.

“Do you want us to clean it out for you?”

Christ waves his hand again, taps his chin with his wand. “Not necessary, Victor, but thank you,” he says thoughtfully. “Say, what’s your favourite colour?”

“Mine’s blue,” Yuri says and shrugs. Victor grins a bit, ruffles his hair and laughs when Yuri grumbles something about ruined hair styles.

“Brown,” he answers. “Hazel brown.”

Chris sends him a sly look, then nods and gets up. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.” He hums and lifts his wand. Sparkles turn gold and they shower over the pumpkin, tickle the surface until it starts glowing and the leaves growing out of the top start thinning, curling. Victor watches with held breath as it starts growing bigger, thicker and Christophe grins, keeps sending a stream of sparkles until the pumpkin is well towering over them and the sparkles fade out into nothing.

What stands there is a light blue carriage, with windows lined hazel. The wheels are silver, hugged by thin buds on vines and they shimmer in the night as the last sparkles glimmer and disappear. What used to grow on top now embraces the body, bronze vines with small leaves.

Victor slaps a hand in front of his mouth and refrains from pinching himself. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, any and every positive adjective he can think of.

“Voila!” Chris grins and claps. “Wow, I really outdid myself with this one,” he marvels, beaming down at his wand. He twirls it around between his fingers, then throws it in the air “But I’m not done yet!”

And so he continues - Makkachin becomes a footman, the lizard, human form long and sickly, skin almost green in places, settles at the front of the carriage and the mice turn into four beautiful white steeds, multi-coloured feathers clipped to their manes, all in a burst of colourful lights.

“Makkachin...” Victor gasps as he nears Makkachin, who stands tall on human legs, in a beige suit, his hair falling down to his neck in waves, dark and smooth. Makkachin simply grins sheepishly, unable to speak.

“Look at you,” Victor coos and grins, claps his shoulder and adjusting his coat. “You look so cute!”

Makkachin just noses at his neck, leaning against him. He even gives a lick in thanks. Victor laughs and pats his back, pulling him in a hug. “You look wonderful.”

Makkachin whines and smiles when he pulls away. Victor gently pecks his forehead, then turns to Christophe.

“What now?”

Chri grins at him. “Now it’s time for me to work my magic on you.” He gestures to all of Victor, then flips his hair in thought. “What should I put you in...”

Yuri looks up at Victor, wide-eyed and flushed. “Hey, Victor...” He whispers as Chris paces from place to place, even floats again in thought. “We’re... We’re dreaming, right?”

Victor smiles and gently kisses his forehead. “Of course we are, sweetheart.” And it’s sad reality, but what can he do? Dreams are all he has left, all that remains for him to ponder on to lose himself in a different world, happier times, on what-ifs and what-could-be’s if only fate wasn’t cruel, if his parents were still alive.

It’s not bad to dream, if only to escape the bleak landscape of reality.

Yuri nods and gulps, eyes fixated on the carriage, that glimmers under the moonlight, that finally peeks out from behind thick black clouds.

Makkachin smiles, sticking to Victor’s side, head on his shoulder. Victor gently pets his hair and Makkachin’s positively vibrating, smiling and nosing his neck. He chuckles and whispers soft praises for him.

“Aha!” Chris suddenly gasps and makes a delighted nose. “Oh, I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” He claps his hands together and Victor looks his way, grins. He hurries forward and, without needing to be prompted, Chris flicks his wand his way. Cackling sparkles reach for him, light pink and when the first one lands on him, a bubble of light and a waterfall of shimmer envelops his body. It feels warm, like a comforting hug as it works over him, his coat and shirt and slacks, the light blinding until he sees nothing but pink, until it spills across the night sky, reaches the stars.

And then it’s over, but the warmth fades slowly, lingers there for a long while. Victor smiles and wraps his arms around himself and spins around once, then twice, then, like in a trance, does it again and again and again.

He’s had no idea dreaming could feel so real, so warm.

Waking up will be like a splash of cold water.

He looks down at himself - his suit, pink at the shoulders, slowly spills into violet shades and a white collar peeks out from underneath it. His black tie is hidden by the cut of the buttoned jacket, gold and silver swirling, mixing together in elegant patterns over it.

Chris and Yuri are both smiling at him, and he grins back. “How do I look?” He bows a bit, running his fingers through his hair.

It’s shorter.

He blinks and does it again, just to check he’s not wrong. Then again and again, and Chris shrugs.

“You said you didn’t want anyone to recognise you, so I charmed your hair style,” he explains, twirls his wand again. The sparks, that jump in all directions light up his face, and he’s grinning, cheeks pink from the cold breeze, that sweeps in from the forest. “Why not go to the extremes, right?”

“Don’t tell me it’ll stay that way,” Yuri says and wrinkles his nose. Chris’s laugh is boisterous and loud, exactly like he remembers it from all those years ago.

“Of course not, it’ll return by midnight.” He shrugs. Sparkles dance around Victor and Yuri again - though they do nothing for Victor, Yuri’s hair gets lengthened, then tightened in a beautiful braided bun and Victor’s eyes grow damp when he sees him. The hair comb previously seated above Victor’s thick braid now glimmers proudly in Yuri’s hair, just above his bun.

“Yuri, you look beautiful,” he marvels. By his side, Makkachin barks in agreement and they all burst into laughter.

“Now, only remember this - the magic fades when the clock strikes midnight for the last time. Everything’ll return to normal by then,” Chris explains once they’re seated in the comfortable velvet seating inside the carriage. Victor runs a gloved finger over the hazel lining around the window and grins.

“Got it,” Yuri says and tugs at Victor’s arm to focus. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

“Right, of course,” Victor agrees and looks at Makkachin. He returns his gaze and, seconds later, they burst into laughter. Inside the carriage, Yuri groans and barks for the coachman that they’re ready.

Victor stares at Chris through the back window until he’s swallowed by darkness. Then, he sighs and relaxes back against the upholstered seat, closes his eyes. The coach bumps against stones on its path, rocks and it almost lulls him to sleep.

Yuri digs his elbow into his side. “You have your invitation?”

Victor hums and digs into his pocket. He pulls out a thin scroll tied with a red ribbon, and the hem of Yuuri’s mittens almost gets dragged out with it. He fondly thumbs at the wool, thinks back on all the memories, all the fun times Yuuri and he shared together.

His heart aches the tiniest bit.

He’s going to miss Yuuri.

He brings the mittens to his lips and gives them a kiss while Yuri groans and complains about disgust and Victor and Yuuri.

Victor laughs and stuffs them back in his pockets, focuses on the view, on the castle lit up and bathed in silver above the hill looming over the city.

-

The coach staggers to a stop at the very top. Victor’s head lolls, hits the window and he’s elbowed awake by Yuri, who’s nudging his arm against his ribs and looking at him in amusement,

“Morning, we’re here, open the door.” Yuri covers his mouth as he yawns. Victor grunts and rubs at his eyes.

“Don’t tell me I fell asleep, embarrassing...” He murmurs and yawns himself, then smiles at Makkachin, who clumsily opens the door for them, smiling as he gets out of the way. Victor accepts his hand as he swings his legs out the door, carefully steps on the first stair then descends. He trips over his own feet at the bottom.

Even in dreams, his heart feels like it’s going to burst in his own chest, his throat clamped, his hands shaking. It’s like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff and one wrong step could send him falling.

Yuri catches his wrist as he stumbles, and Victor smiles thankfully at him when he’s standing on steady feet once more. “Ooops,” he says lightly.

Yuri sends him a weird look. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes, perfectly.” He nods and smiles wider. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Your legs are shaking,” Yuri points out and quirks an eyebrow.

Victor blinks and looks down and _oh, look_ , they are. And so are his hands. And his voice. “It’s just...” He gulps and looks up at the castle - it looms over him, glowing silver, and the stars above are so beautiful and he still can’t believe he’s standing here, in front of _Yuuri’s home_ , about to walk in for one last unforgettable night.

“I still can’t believe we’re here,” he settles on saying, “It’s so...”

“Surreal?” Yuri offers, staring up at the castle too. “I know what you mean.”

Victor smiles and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Come on, your majesty,” he says fondly. “Let’s go in and have the time of our lives.”

Yuri looks up at him and for once, he looks like a child. “Let’s go.” He takes his hand, laces their fingers and Victor laughs as he’s pulled up a long staircase, that leads up to the castle.

The stars twinkle behind them.

A wishing star speeds down the horizon above their heads.

-

Victor thanks the guard, who takes their invitation, and when they’re inside, it’s bigger, grander, more beautifulthan Victor could ever imagine. His breath hitches in his throat.

The staircase is long and grand and wide, home to a deep red carpet, that spirals along it, and the walls are pieces of art, with gorgeous frescoes of all colours, shades and __oh__ , the chandelier is blinding, crystals winking from high above.

He can hear music, soft melodies, that slowly crescendo, then fade away, and the patter of servants, that hurry about. It’s nostalgic yet so different because there’s no smell of stuffed turkey, no smell of shoe polish and it’s different, and Victor can’t place all the smells, there’s too many, too _much_.

As they walk up the stairs, Victor’s fingers tickle the ebony wood and his heart skips again as the weight of the situation finally settles on his shoulders but instead of exhausted, burdened by it, he feels _free_ , like he’s sprouted wings and flown away. His breath hitches and his fingers grip the wood.

“Yuri,” he whispers, eyes still on the stair rail below his fingers, neatly carved. “Never, ever pinch me.”

Yuri looks at him and chuckles, pats his shoulder. “You’re disgusting,” he says fondly.

Victor hums and looks up, at the far away end of the spiral and takes off in a run.

He can’t wait, okay, and his heart feels so _full_ , he wants to hurry before he wakes up, wants to seize the moment, wants to feel, wants to see, wants to smell, wants to _feel_. Yuuri’s hand on the back of his neck for a polite waltz, his hand burning through two layers of clothing to imprint itself on his skin forever.

And when he’s at the top, it’s like there’s no turning back - the guards there give a polite smile and he smiles back, gripping at his chest. He steps forward, and forward, and the one on the far right opens the velvet curtain, then the other one moves to open the door.

The door cracks open in front of his eyes and the light streaming from the ballroom is blinding, but there’s music - violin and bass and piano and so many others - floating out and people are _dancing_ , tiny specks of colour. Dresses twirl and suits move gracefully to gather them in a spin.

Victor feels like he can’t breathe.

He waits for Yuri by the entrance and no one really gives him a second glance. Laughter echoes off the walls swirling gold, off the majestic chandelier hanging above the middle of the dance floor and feet glide over the mosaic of colours in a graceful waltz. He takes it all in, absorbs it until it’s painted into his mind; the sounds, the smells, the sights, the taste of candle wax burning through his mind.

Yuri’s breath hitches when he sees the ballroom, eyes widen but he looks at Victor and says, “I’ve seen better,” with a little grin.

Victor laughs and takes his hand. “Let’s go mingle,” he suggests and motions at the stair case cushioned with another red carpet. “Do you want a drink?”

“Mmm, yeah. Orange juice.” Yuri shrugs as they walk down together. Some heads turn, evaluating them curiously but Victor looks past them, past the bodies still dancing too.

”Got it,” he says after a moment’s pause and turns back to Yuri. “What are you going to do?”

Yuri shrugs a bit. “Go look for Phichit, mingle with him? I don’t know, I’ll figure that out when we get there.”

Victor’s eyebrows dip. “Yuri, are you sure -?”

“Yes,” Yuri interrupts, rolls his eyes. “Seriously, don’t worry about me, you know I’d rather be alone than have to deal with people.”

Their shoes click against the floor, a mosaic, red and blue and white, creating patterns Victor couldn’t follow with his eyes. “Well, if you’re sure,” he hesitates and licks his lips. “I’ll come get you as soon as my dance is over, okay?”

Yuri glares. “If you have less than ten dances with the guy I’ll strangle you.” He huffs and rips his hand from Victor’s to fold it over his chest. “After all the mooning you put me through, I’m not accepting less, got it?”

Victor opens his mouth to protest but the words are the most beautiful chorus in Victor’s selfish brain - ten dances with _Yuuri_. The thought alone makes his smile bubble along with his chest. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try,” he says and leans down to kiss the top of his head. Yuri flushes and looks around - the music has just stopped and a few people are staring, hiding smiles behind their hands.

“I-idiot,” Yuri chokes out, “people are watching, stop embarrassing me in public! Go embarrass _yourself_ , go, go!” He pushes at his arm. Victor pouts and throws his arms around him.

The violin starts again, a lonely melody, full of sorrow and regret.

“Don’t be so cold, Yuri,” he complains, looking at him with wide eyes. “You’ll break my heart.”

Yuri groans and pushes at his face. “Oh god, I can’t believe dream you is so annoying, too, aren’t people supposed to be better versions of themselves in dreams?”

“You’re not exactly sugar and spice and everything nice either,” Victor points out and puffs out his cheeks. “Be nice to me in my dream, will you?”

“As soon as you stop being embarrassing.” Yuri glares at him, but his lips are twitching, and one end is already curling in the first hint of a smile.

Victor grins and offers him his hand when he pulls away. “Want to dance?”

Throwing a glance at the dancing figures, Yuri sighs and takes his hand. “Only if you promise to get me some orange juice and food afterwards.”

“Consider it done,” Victor assures him, then drags him between dancing couples, until they find a portion they can squeeze into.

Yuuri’ll have to wait for a few seconds more, he supposes.

Yuri is clumsy on his feet, and he steps on Victor’s toes more often than not, but it’s stunning and Victor’s chest feels warm in affection. He gives Yuri’s hand a squeeze before he scoops him up and spins him, and Yuri’s muffling laughter into his shoulder, holding on tight.

“I love you, Yuri,” he whispers when the music slowly fades out, leaving him breathless and sweaty. Yuri smiles up at him.

“Sap,” he says softly and drags him towards the buffet table. “Yeah, yeah, I love you too, old man.”

Victor smiles widely at the back of his head.

-

Yuuri gives his dance partner a small smile as the music trails off and they bow. She grins at him, waves her hand. “Thank you for the dance, your Majesty. You’re a splendid dancer,” she says and brushes her fingers against the sleeve of his light blue suit. Yuuri coughs and casually moves his arm away.

 “Thank you, so are you, my Lady,” he answers and shakes her hand. She smooths out wrinkles on her pastry-pink dress when their hands fall, and her hair piece glimmers in the candle light. “Would you care for another?” He tackles on, more out of politeness than anything else.

She chuckles and shakes her head. “I apologise, but I must go find my daughter and make sure she’s not drinking too much,” she says looks at him from under thick eyelashes. He gives a polite laugh. “Care to join me?”

“I would love to but,” he looks around - everything’s a blur more far away - then back at her. “Maybe later,” he lamely finishes, bows again then walks away from her. The music’s started up a few moments ago, and this time it’s a solitary piano piece, faintly backed up by the others. It’s creating such a beautiful melody, slow and musical, and Yuuri taps his feet along the beat as he stops by the buffet table for a quick glass of champagne.

There’s a tap on his shoulders right before the crystal flute touches his lip, that almost startles him. He looks back, comes face to face with a man barely a head taller than him, thin lips and dancing eyes, short hair swept to the side.

 _Oh_ , his heart sinks. _It’s not Victor _.__

He gives the stranger a smile and offers him a glass. “Hello,” he says. The stranger smiles back, gratefully takes a glass and pours himself a shot of champagne.

“Hello,” he says back and his voice, light, breezy, purrs comfortably down his spine. They clink their glasses together, murmur ‘cheers’ and down them halfway.

Yuuri sighs as he puts it back down on the table. “I’ll need another shot.” He starts reaching for the bottle but the stranger’s hand on his halts him, makes something electric shoot down his spine.

“Mmm, first,” the stranger says, barely audible over the music. “May I have this dance?” His eyes are big and _blue_ and he’s always been weak to big, blue eyes so he can’t help it as he smiles and says __yes__ , takes his hand and lets the man lead him to the very edges of the dancing throng. His hand is cold on his neck, but his breath is warm and so are his eyes and his smile as he tucks him against himself.

Yuuri licks his lips and takes him by the waist. “I take it you’re leading?”

“Unless you’d prefer to do so,” the stranger answers and _smiles_ again. Yuuri smiles and shakes his head, takes his hand and gives it a squeeze.

“You go ahead.” He looks up at him, counts the freckles on the bridge of his nose, sprayed over sunset-pink cheeks, counts the sparkles in his eyes. His heart sighs and he does along with it, stumbles into the steps when the music starts up again.

The hand over his neck strokes the hair playing at the nape of his neck. “Mmm, you look wonderful with your hair like this, has anyone ever told you this?”

“A few times.” Yuuri chuckles as they start turning and nearly bump into another dancing couple. The stranger laughs and offers an apology, smile charming, teasing with a hint of teeth and one of the women laughs and waves her hand.

“Mmm, but,” the stranger turns back to Yuuri as they resume, starting to moving forward in a square. Yuuri raises his eyebrows and flushes when he says, “I think you look just beautiful with your hair the way it usually is.”

“Oh, uhh,” he fumbles for words. “Thank you.” And his hand is swaying along with him as they move, boxed in place and then the music takes off and so do they, spin across the dance floor, leaving behind trails of shoe polish, and their coats spin along with them and even if it isn’t Victor, Yuuri is _drawn_ to this man. The mysterious air to his smile, the warmth in his eyes Yuuri could see from so close, as if Yuuri was the single most beautiful man he’s ever seen, as if he never wants to let go, never wants this to end. Like how _he_ looked at him before Yuuri went and messed everything up, so much that Victor’s not even coming to the ball.

And he looks so much like Victor, reminds Yuuri of him so much with every syllable uttered, every quirk of his lips.

But there’s something off and _it’s not Victor_. He should stop projecting on a random stranger.

The stranger smiles again, leans down as he dips him and caresses his hips through his shirt. “Your Majesty, is there something on my face?”

Yuuri blinks. “Oh, no, sorry,” he laughs sheepishly and straightens up and they skid across the floor before the man catches his waist and sweeps his feet off the ground. “You just remind me a lot of a friend of mine,” he explains and wraps his arms around his neck as they spin in time with music.

“Oh?” The stranger’s mouth quirks wider, then Yuuri’s feet touch the ground and he takes stance again, humming in time with the music. The piano is crescendoing, growing stronger, and the violin is its back vocal, supporting it every step of the way. “Are they here at the ball?”

Yuuri looks around and no, no hint of long silver hair, soft like spun silk, no velvety laugh and warm eyes, loving and fond as they ask for a dance.

He looks back and gives a small smile. “No, he didn’t show up. I don’t think he will, either.” He sighs and yelps as he trips over the stranger’s feet and stumbles against his chest. He flushes and looks up, meaning to apologise, but the stranger just laughs softly, holds him close.

“Well, well, well, if you wanted a hug you could have simply said so,” he teases. Yuuri flushes deeper but he can’t help but laugh along, shaking his head.

“I’ll remember that,” he says as he grins up at him. The stranger’s breath hitches, then he smiles, bright like the flames flickering as they light up the ballroom, and touches Yuuri’s neck again, takes him by the waist and pulls him close.

“Well, if he’s not here,” the stranger says and smiles, voice airy and soft, “he’s truly missing out. He should be sorry.” They move again, fluid movements across the imaginary square under their feet.

Yuuri laughs softly. “You’re too kind.” He sighs. “He has every right not to be here, really. I lied to him for four months and right after I told him the truth, I proposed... I doubt he wants to see me again, he’s probably furious with me.”

The stranger’s breath hitches. “Well, your Majesty, it’s not good to lie,” he says and chuckles, taps his hips as he dips him. Yuuri laughs softly, wraps his free arm around his neck as his head lolls back right before he’s pulled back up.

“Thank you, I know that.” He hums and winces as he almost steps on the stranger’s toes. “Sorry.”

“No big deal,” he answers and grins, sharp and soft, far-away yet warm. “Have you apologised to your friend?”

“Not enough,” he sighs and drops his head a bit. “I’d continue apologising for the rest of our life if he’d let me.”

The stranger doesn’t say anything, just gives his hip a comforting squeeze.

The last notes are approaching, the music slowly fading out, and Yuuri’s spun around, then picked up and spun around again. He holds onto his neck until the piano’s on its last note and the hum of the violin passes into the air, disappears like a huff of breath on a winter night. When his feet touch the ground, it feels like it’s made out of fluffy clouds and his legs almost give out under him. The stranger catches him by the waist. His laugh warms his cheek.

“Careful,” he chides, “you could have hurt yourself, your Majesty.”

“Sorry, I’m just always a bit disoriented after this dance,” he explains and rubs his neck. “Thanks.”

“Mmm.” The stranger smiles at him. “No problem. I’d never let you fall, don’t worry.”

He laughs weakly. “Thanks, uhh,” he looks around. People are looking at him, like predators look at prey. He grimaces then gives the stranger a look.

“Do you want one more dance? I’ll lead this time?”

The stranger smiles, like the world’s most beautiful sunrise. “I’d love that.”

-

Their second dance comes to a halt and Victor grins as his feet touch the ground. He untangles himself from Yuuri’s neck and straightens out his jacket.

“Thank you for the lovely dance, your Majesty.” He bows and smiles at him. Yuuri smiles back.

“Thank __you__ , kind stranger,” he hums and twines his fingers in front of himself. He looks around - left and right, backwards and forward again.

Victor licks his lips. “You’re a wonderful dancer,” he says softly as the orchestra announces a break. He rocks forward and back on his heels. “I’m a bit surprised.”

Yuuri quirks a wider smile and an eyebrow. “I have a feeling I should be offended,” he says in amusement. Victor laughs softly as chatter murmurs through the air, the sounds of glasses clinking, champagne spilling past people’s lips.

“Oh, no, it’s just a little birdie once told me your Majesty has a tendency to step on other people’s toes.” He grins and winks. “I already thought I’d have to pull doctor Babicheva out of the crowds. I’m glad the birdie was mistaken.”

Yuuri blinks and stares at him. “Do you want to get another glass of champagne?” He says after a few seconds. “And a bite?”

Victor brightens up. “Oh, yes please, I’m starving.” He laughs and takes his hand, dragging him off towards the buffet table. Yuuri laughs and lets him.

-

Victor gets three dances with Yuuri, then a visit to the balcony, behind closed curtains, just him and Yuuri and the clear night sky, the wind whisking through his hair, the taste of springs on his tongue.

He turns to Yuuri and smiles, leaning against the marble fence. “So,” he asks lightly, stroking back his bangs, “what did you want to talk about?”

Yuuri hesitates; shadows coat his face, fall across his lips and into the dip along his nose. He leans back against the wall, lets his head loll back. His exhale whispers through the air.

“Are you...” he gulps and licks his lips. Victor blinks. “Are you Victor?”

Victor’s breath hitches. The world hasn’t rearranged. It’s still spinning and the moon still coats Yuuri’s face paler than he is, in silver colours and Victor’s heart is still beating, just that now it’s racing against his rib cage (he hopes it’s not bruised because of it) and his voice catches in his throat, like it’s stuck in a cage.

Victor gives a smile and tilts his head. “Victor? Oh, you mean your friend?”

Yuuri licks his lips again, stands taller. “I-I know it’s you, Victor,” he says but his voice wavers and his eyes are searching Victor’s, desperate to look and find something, maybe closure. Maybe proof he’s not crazy for thinking that.

And Victor could lie to him, he knows he could - say _no, I’m sorry_ but that helps no one and if Yuuri knows, or suspects already...

He doesn’t want to lie to him.

Especially if that lie’ll hurt Yuuri.

(Even if he’s been doing it the whole evening, pretended his longing gazes towards the ballroom door aren’t meant for the one holding his waist, his hand, his glazed looks weren’t meant for himself. Like he has no idea what Yuuri’s saying, who he’s talking about with warmth in his voice.)

He sighs and fists back his bangs. “I suppose you’ve got me.” He gulps and forces another little smile. Across from him, Yuuri’s breath hitches and his shoulders slump, maybe in relief, maybe in shock, maybe in hurt.

Yuuri steps forward, extends his arm so his hand brushes against Victor’s cheek. Victor turns his head and presses a kiss against the middle of his palm, nuzzles the warm thing and leans into the touch. “But I... You... How? Why?” His voice is thick, whispered into the spring evening.

Victor sighs and gazes up at the night sky. “Would you believe me if I said magic?”

Yuuri stares at him, gaping. “Magic...?”

Victor nods. “Magic.” He pauses, then “Fairy godfather magic.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, I thought saying good bye would be easier if you didn’t... if you didn’t know it’s me.” He looks away, towards the forest now - he sees the small clearing nested between tree tops, and smiles a bit easier.

“Say... Victor, say good bye?” Yuuri quickly pulls back his hand. “What do you mean?”

Victor shrugs. “I’m sorry, but... I - “ His voice catches though, despite his bravado, and he gulps down his knot. He forces himself to look at him, his vulnerable expression, hurt, with dipped eyebrows and a mouth cracking the smallest ‘o’. His heart aches; he’s so, so beautiful. “I... I can’t marry you, Yuuri. I can’t just leave Yuri.”

Yuuri draws back a bit, stiff upper lip and glossy eyes. “Leave Yuri? Why would you leave him?”

“I can’t have him in that house all by himself, Yuuri, you have no idea what she’d do to him if I wasn’t there.”

Yuuri blinks and gulps. “I never asked you to leave him back there,” he says slowly, wide-eyed. “He was always meant to come here with you, if you’d say yes.”

Victor’s heart stutters hopefully. “But I don’t know first thing about ruling a kingdom, Yuuri, I can’t do it.”

“I’d teach you,” he whispers and looks just as hopeful as Victor feels. “My parents will rule for a while longer, Victor, I can teach you.”

He falters and carefully reaches out, catching his cheek in the arch of his palm. Yuuri leans in, nuzzles into it like a kitten. A tear streams down his cheek. “And Makkachin?”

“Here, of course he can stay here,” Yuuri answers with no hesitation. He sniffles and rubs at his arms. “Vicchan - ahh, that’s my poodle, I think I mentioned him to you? - would love the company and we have too many guest bedrooms, we can give them both their own room and play with them in the backyard.” He looks up, surer now, braver. Smiling. “Any other worries?”

Victor hesitates then throws his arms around him and _oh God _,__ has he missed this. Yuuri hums into the crook of his neck, squeezes him close, exhales shakily. Victor laughs wetly against his shoulder and allows them both to fall to the ground.

“I’m sorry...” He whispers.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Yuuri whispers back and Victor holds him closer.

Midnight strikes. His arms tingle but he lets the clock beat until it’s one past midnight and suddenly, there’s a pressure on his back and his sleeves are hanging off his shoulders, his buttons all gone. But Victor stays the same, and Yuuri too, solid and warm in his arms, fingers tangling into his hair, twirling strands around long fingers.

“I’ll probably want an explanation of what just happened, won’t I?” Yuuri says in amusement and smiles at him when he pulls away.

Victor laughs and pulls him in his arms again. “Later,” he promises. “Later.”

They stay there for the longest time, and Yuri’s peeking out from behind the closed curtain. Victor grins and waves him out. Hesitant as he is, he complies and Yuuri just reaches back, pulls him into the hug as he yelps.

“What the -?” Yuri says and looks between them. Victor grins and pats his back. “What are you two playing at?”

“Mmm, group hugs are nice,” Yuuri laughs and grins at him, too. “Brother-in-law,” he says it so happily, like it tickles pleasantly on his tongue. Yuri looks at Victor in shock.

“He - ?”

“He knows, he proposed, made some things clear and I said yes in a heartbeat,” Victor confirms and grins tenderly at Yuuri, who mirrors him completely. Yuri’s face crumbles into an expression of pitiful, exaggerated sadness and disgust.

“Oh god, don’t tell me I’ll have to live with this shit now. Let me out!” He struggles against their hold.

Victor hums and shakes his head. “Never,” he says seriously. “You’re our prisoner now.”

“The prisoner of love,” Yuuri agrees and ruffles his hair.

“I hate my life,” Yuri bemoans. “I hate my life so much.”

Victor laughs and turns to Yuuri. “Thank you,” he says after a few moments.

 _For loving me, for making me happy, for accepting me, for caring for me, for being you_ go unspoken but somehow, he gets the feeling that Yuuri understands perfectly.

Yuuri smiles and reaches to hold his hand between their bodies. “Thank _you_ ,” he breathes.

“I’ll thank the devil if you two stop being gross,” Yuri grumbles and they laugh. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A few minutes later...  
> “Why is Makkachin in the middle of the ballroom?” - Yuuri.  
> “Uh...” - Victor  
> “Shit, we forgot about the mice-horses and lizard coachman.” - Yuri.  
> “Mice and lizard what?” - Yuuri.  
> “It was Chris’s idea!” - Victor. “I would’ve gone with beautiful Makkachin as a horse, personally.”  
> “I... Okay, Victor, you tell the floating guy that next time.” - Yuri  
> “I have no idea what’s going on here.” - Yuuri  
> “Better for your sanity.” - Yuri
> 
> the lullaby is from the russian version of 'sing, sweet nightingale' *casually references title in the fic* also yes, it's needed to call your fairy god parent because plot
> 
> WHOOOO THIS DONE AND SO BAD I WANT TO BLEACH MY EYES I'M NEVER THINKING OF THIS FIC EVER AGAIN
> 
> i am so sorry about my borderline purple prose. i get carried away and i seem to think it's pretty for some reason.
> 
> also sorry for the lack of mari&yuuri sibling interaction i wANTED TO INCLUDE MORE BECAUSE THEY'RE BEAUTIFUL BUT I HAD TO CROSS OUT LIKE, THREE SCENES BECAUSE OF LACK OF TIME (this is what i get for adding almost half of this stuff last minute) so daily reminder that yuuri&mari are sibling goals and mari is the best and deserves the best i love her
> 
> not presented in the fic but i think it happened: yuri bumped into otabek (who's a butler) and spends the whole evening snarking about 'that dress' and 'that suit' while otabek made him laugh with deadpanning. they also bonded over cats and tigers.
> 
> i'm a slut for yuri having more friends than just otabek so phichit is his bff #2.
> 
> also yes, chris magicked vic and yuri up so no one could recognise them per vic's request (which is why yuuri was all "this is not victor" and yet still drawn to him). yuuri can still recognise him because true love and soulmates etc. also vic commenting on yuuri's dancing.
> 
> i honestly wanted to do a wedding epilogue but i ran out of time whelp.
> 
> ALSO since i'm not sure if it's clear in the fic: vic and yuu met at a ball (vic and yuri's parents were rich and had p high titles) when they were six and yuu thought vic was cute so he developed a crush and watched him the whole ball but never approached him (he asked his parents for vic's name) and forgot about him in time (but phichit never forgot his name because bff power. based on a true story). he saw him again (but didn't recognise him) at his sister's birthday ball, looking all sad and he wanted to cheer him up so phichit basically pushed him to his side and they danced the night away but didn't introduce themselves to each other AGAIN (idiots smh). (also vic's mom died just earlier last year (september, october). vic's family isn't really one to go to balls (they've only gone to like, three by the time vic's fifteen) but his father wanted to cheer him up a bit (he's married to Bitch McBitchface by this point) so he took him to the ball) he died a few months later. Bitch McBitchFace cleared out Yuri and Victor's room (they shared one) and made it into a smaller banquet room and relocated them in the attic.
> 
> may isn't as bad but honestly, being passive like her is almost as bad as actively taking part in the abuse which is what i was getting at with her being like that.
> 
> also not sure if anyone caught on but chris charmed may into showing vic the lake (and then got into tons of trouble with the higher ups because of the fucked up rules).
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> congrats to anyone who made it this far!!! i really appreciate all of you, i hope this fic didn't suck too much ;; i'm sorry for any inaccurate portrayal of anything...  
> i hope you enjoyed even the smallest bit <3 <3
> 
> hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/chuarebeautiful) because i'm lonely af and p chill
> 
> AND IN CASE YOU'VE MISSED IT HERE IS THE AMAZING DRAWING AGAIN: [rock](https://pastelline-ursidae.tumblr.com/post/159161960615/my-entry-for-the-katsudonbang-based-on-sing)


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